‘I can’t type,’ said Peggy, refusing to rise to the bait.

Doris grimaced as she looked down at Daisy. ‘Do wipe that child’s nose, Margaret. It’s quite disgusting.’

Peggy quickly mopped Daisy up, but her daughter was getting restless and they were in danger of being late. ‘I really must get on, Doris. But there is one thing I’d like to ask before I do. Why did you give Rosie’s letter to Ethel?’

Doris raised one finely shaped eyebrow. ‘I was extremely busy that day and she kindly offered to deliver it. Why do you ask?’

‘Ethel not only didn’t deliver it, but she opened it and read it. It finally got to Ron yesterday.’

‘Well, that’s all right then,’ said Doris, digging into her expensive handbag.

‘Actually it was far from all right,’ said Peggy. ‘Rosie needed him to run the pub while she went north to arrange her husband’s funeral. Luckily for her he’d taken it on anyway, but because that letter wasn’t delivered, he was in absolute pieces thinking she’d left him for that Major Radwell.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she had,’ said Doris with a sniff. ‘You know my thoughts on Ron, and although I don’t approve of the Braithwaite woman, I’m sorry her letter wasn’t delivered as promised.’

‘Thank you, Doris, I appreciate your apology.’

Doris dipped her chin in gracious acceptance and slipped a threepenny bit into Daisy’s rather grubby hand. ‘What do you say, Daisy?’

‘Tank you, Dor, Dor,’ the child replied, suitably awed by such largesse.

‘Thanks, Doris. I’ll get her some sweets for a treat later if I can find any.’

Peggy decided that as Doris was being so nice, she should do something in return. ‘It would be lovely if you could come over for a cuppa or lunch one day. I’m busy this weekend, but what about Saturday the seventeenth?’

‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible,’ said Doris. ‘I’m hosting a luncheon that day in aid of a children’s charity Lady Chumley and I have set up to help local children who’ve lost a parent or been made homeless by the war. It’s just a small gathering of twenty or so of Cliffehaven’s elite.’ She regarded Peggy thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you could come if you wanted, but I’m afraid it isn’t a suitable event for small children.’

Peggy had to bite the inside of her lip to prevent herself from smiling at the insincerity of the invitation and the idea of hosting a children’s charity event at which children weren’t welcome. The thought of attending such a function, where she would have to smile and be polite to the snobbiest women in Cliffehaven, made her shudder. She’d done it once before and sworn she’d never do it again.