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Will was sent, like every Blackwell boy – paid for by Granny Prudence – to boarding school and his relationship with Zeph never moved past brother to friend. And his relationship with his father had developed an edge that he wished it hadn’t, one where he saw a man desperate to be free of this woman’s rule but ‘what was expected’ keeping him tied. Saying that it was probably best that Will went away to school anyway because Mum was having difficulty coping with the two of them, and Will pleading to stay and his dad wavering. Almost. But then Prudence chipped in – said it was time the boy grew up, that he was weak, that his father had babied him with just this kind of leniency. That he needed to build some character. And the Blackwell tradition won out. She won out. His father not quite strong enough to stand up to his own mother. And at the end of it – after university and a business MA – Will came home an adult. Came home with the hard edge Prudence had so desired. Came back to step into the shoes his father had set up ready for him as part of the company. As was expected. A company, however, that everyone working there knew had expanded too quickly, that didn’t have the infrastructure in place to cope, a company – his father’s pride and joy – that was failing.
    Back in the present, Will turned away from the London view. Tried really hard to stop his brain from thinking of any more. Refused to let the image of him standing in this very office after the worst meeting possible, het-up, frustrated, angry with his father’s ‘it’ll be ok’, ‘just keep pushing on’ attitude when it clearly wouldn’t be OK and just losing his rag. Bashing the table top to get his dad to stop with the constant flow of daydreams and, to his for ever regret, saying exactly what his Aunt Violet had started to say. That the company was a shambles. That it wasn’t worth saving.
    He put his hand over his eyes. The look on his father’s face. It was just the worst thing he’d ever seen.
    Dolores poked her head round the door. ‘They’re waiting for you in the boardroom.’
    Will glanced up, pretended he was just scratching his forehead. ‘I’ll be right there,’ he said and she nodded. He poured himself a quick glass of water, straightened his tie and headed to the next meeting.

Chapter Six
    Saturday. No idea what the date is. October 1944.
    Oh god. Two letters arrived today. What I’m never prepared for is how something can be so good in life and one second later so completely awful.
    James’s letter was just a few lines:
    One day it will just be a normal Thursday afternoon and I will come and meet you and we’ll get the hell away from here. Just you and me. That thought keeps me sane. All my love, James
    The one from the government was longer. Damn them!
    I regret to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office. To the effect that (No.) 15733727 (Rank) L. Corporal (Name) James BLACKWELL was wounded on the 10th day of October 1944.
    The only thing – only thing – that I can be thankful for is that he gave my name and address. He wanted me to know if he got injured and he wants my help. I have to take that to mean that he cares about me more than just likes.
    But what do I do next?
    30th October 1944
    I’ve managed to find the address of his family and written to him.
    The weather is dreadful.
    3rd November 1944
    Everything’s got a bit more serious. I’m finding this quite hard to write down because somehow written down it makes it a great deal more real.
    I’m pregnant.
    My one precious night at The Ritz has lead to this. I don’t know whether there is any hope beneath the terror that I feel when I wake up at three a.m. I can’t have a baby.
    I’ve had to tell Mum who is going to tell Dad and says we have to cross our fingers and hope he doesn’t kill us. (We had a little laugh at that idea because the last thing Dad killed was a frog by mistake with his spade gardening last year