She made no other objection and said nothing about her forthcoming meeting with James. She had bought herself a good dress but she was nervous in case she was not sufficiently elegant for such a gathering. Her worries were dispelled, however, as she stood waiting for James. People of all sorts were making their way into the hall. There were ladies and gentlemen, but also ordinary working people in their Sunday best, all apparently quite at ease and confident of their right to be there. James hurried along Lime Street towards her and arrived slightly out of breath.

‘May, I am so sorry to keep you waiting! Mama was feeling a little unwell after church and I had to go to a neighbour for a particular herbal tincture she finds helpful. I hope you haven’t got cold.’

‘No, I’m perfectly all right,’ she assured him. ‘I’m sorry your mother is unwell.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ he said. ‘She suffers from indigestion. Shall we go in?’

The concert opened a window for May onto a different life. She had never heard much music. In the workhouse chapel they had sung hymns, to the accompaniment of a tinny piano; and when she worked for Mrs Freeman she had listened to Isabella’s piano lessons. Isabella had little more talent for music than she had for art, but sometimes her teacher took over and played a piece as it should have sounded and May had stopped in her sweeping and dusting to listen. And she had enjoyed the military marches of the brass band. But nothing had prepared her for this. When the orchestra played she was almost dazed by the glitter of the brass instruments and the variety of different tones from the strings and the woodwind, which seemed to her to weave together in a complex design of many colours.

Outside afterwards James looked down at her. ‘Did you enjoy that?’

‘I think it was the most wonderful thing I have ever heard, or seen.’

His look was almost tender. ‘I’m so glad. ‘Then he seemed to gather himself, as if remembering some secret obligation. ‘Well, we must do it again some time. Now, can I walk you home?’

Something made her say, ‘No, there’s really no need. You should go back to see if your mama is feeling better.’

She caught the fleeting look of relief as he took her hand and pressed it. ‘I’m glad you liked the concert. Until we meet again …’

She watched him hurry away down the street and tried to suppress a sense of disappointment. She shook herself mentally. What had she imagined might follow from this meeting? She knew very well that there could never be any real relationship between her and James Breckenridge. He had been very kind and given her a real treat. She had no right to expect anything more. Anyway, she had Armando and that was a much more practical proposition.