To distract her thoughts she went, as she often did, to St George’s Hall. She had an ongoing project to sketch all the different motifs in the tiles on the floor and she never tired of studying them. The hall was being prepared for the Christmas celebrations, now only three weeks away, and workmen were busy all round it, making sketching difficult. After a little she gave up and settled for watching the work.

In one corner a man was crouching, doing something to the tiles. May wandered over to see what it was and, aware of her presence, he looked up. She saw that he was young, probably only a few years older than herself. His complexion was golden, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun, his nose straight, his hair very dark, cut so that it fell forward over his brow to shade eyes of a deep brown. He stood up.

‘Can I be of service, miss?’

His accent was not Liverpudlian but she could not place it.

‘No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wondered what you were doing.’

He looked down at the floor. ‘Some of the tiles here had been damaged. I was replacing them. It’s done now.’

May bent closer. ‘You would never know. You must be very skilled.’

He gave a brief, deprecating laugh. ‘Not yet, but I hope to be one day, as skilled as my father who laid this floor in the first place.’

‘Your father made this wonderful floor?’

‘Him and others, too. My family have been skilled in the art of terrazzo for generations, so when the architect who designed this building wanted people to lay the tiles he sent for us.’

‘Sent for you? From where?’

‘From Atina. It’s a tiny village in Italy.’

‘So you’re Italian.’

‘I was born there, yes. But I have lived here since I was five years old.’

‘Do you like it here?’

‘Oh yes. There is so much more life, so much more opportunity here.’ He paused and held out his hand. ‘I should have introduced myself. Armando Capaldi, at your service.’

She put her cold hand into his warm one. ‘May Lavender. How do you do?’

Their eyes met and for a moment neither of them spoke. Then he said, nodding at the sketchbook under her arm, ‘You are an artist?’

‘Oh no. I just like to copy designs. It helps with my work.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a milliner, well, a milliner’s apprentice. I make hats at Freeman’s Department Store.’

‘You are interested in terrazzo?’

‘I love this floor. It must be wonderful to help create something that is going to last, to give people pleasure for years to come.’

‘But you make things that give people pleasure too.’