‘Yes, oh yes,’ gasped Rita, snatching the ring from her and anxiously examining it to make sure it hadn’t been damaged before slipping it onto her finger.

Peggy turned to the others watching from the landing. ‘The show’s over. Get back to your tea, and take Harvey with you.’

Closing the door, she folded her arms and glared at both girls who were now sitting apart on their single beds. ‘Well, I hope you’re ashamed of yourselves,’ she said. ‘In all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen anything like it. You aren’t alley-cats to be scrapping and screeching like banshees, but young women who should know better – and I will have no more of it. Do you hear?’

‘Yes, Aunt Peggy,’ they mumbled in unison, their heads bowed.

Peggy struggled to keep a stern face, for both girls were so doleful, they looked like naughty children caught in the act of mischief. But this was not the time to be soft.

She perched on the dressing stool and eyed them both. ‘Rita. You’d better explain about the ring – and Ivy, you’ll keep quiet until she’s had her say, then it will be your turn. Understood?’

Ivy looked mulish, but nodded in agreement.

Rita lifted her chin but couldn’t quite manage to meet Peggy’s gaze as she explained about Peter’s proposal, the dilemma it had caused and the reason she’d kept it all secret.

‘But why not confide in me?’ Peggy asked, rather hurt that the girl hadn’t trusted her to keep her secret, or come to her for advice and guidance on what was clearly an awful conundrum.

‘I wanted to talk to you about it, really I did,’ Rita said earnestly, ‘but I felt it was only right that I should tell Dad first.’

She glanced over her shoulder at a sulking Ivy. ‘I might have known that nosy cow couldn’t help poking about when I wasn’t here. Nothing’s secret with her around.’

‘That’s not fair,’ protested Ivy, jumping to her feet. ‘I were looking for a match to light me fag, and thought you might have a box stashed away in that junk drawer of yours. How was I to know you’d hidden the bleeding crown jewels in there?’

‘I don’t smoke, as you very well know,’ Rita retorted, ‘so why look in my drawer for matches?’

‘She has a point, Ivy,’ said Peggy, ‘and you admitted to me the other day that you were curious as to what was going on with Rita.’

Ivy wrung her hands in distress. ‘I weren’t being nosy. Not this time, I swear. I really were looking for matches, honest. She’s been in such a funny mood these past few days I thought she must have put the box we use to light the gas in her drawer instead of back on the mantelpiece.’