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Her directness took Frances by surprise. ‘You feel it?'

Ada lifted her chin. ‘More to the point, you feel it too. I can see it in your eyes.'

Frances recalled how some of the forest kids had told her that Ada Perkins was a witch. It was just something children said. Now she wasn't so sure.

‘If Miriam does turn up, please give her my best wishes.'

‘I will.'

‘You must miss her.'

Ada looked sad. ‘I do. I should have seen it coming.'

Ada Perkins had always presented a strong image, that of a woman who could cope with anything that was thrown at her. Now she looked smaller, somehow, less sure of the world than she used to be.

‘I hope she does come back.'

Ada shook her head. ‘I don't think she will.'

‘Then I hope she finds happiness – wherever she is.'

‘Never mind. You look to your own future, Frances Sweet. That's a charming man out there, one any woman would be proud to have on her arm.'

‘I don't think …' began Frances, blushing to the roots of her hair.

‘Don't think. Some men control their own destiny; others are controlled by it.' Ada's gaze met hers head on. ‘That man out there is in charge of his destiny. He's the sort to take the world by its tail. Up to you whether you're up there with him.'

‘An interesting woman,' Declan remarked on the journey home.

Frances had been thinking deep thoughts, some about her mother, and others about Miriam.

At the sound of his voice she turned and eyed the velvet black eyebrows, the tanned skin, the strong profile. Wrapped up in studying him, she made no comment.

He noticed and looked amused. ‘Are you looking to eat me? I would have thought that game stew was more than enough to satisfy you. It certainly filled me up.'

The moment of admiring appraisal was gone. His cocky comment had once again annoyed her. ‘Why ever would I want to eat you?'

‘I intrigue you.'

That sideways glance, that simmering smile. Don't give in to his charms, she told herself. Convince him you're not impressed.

‘You flatter yourself! Whatever would somebody of my age find intriguing about you?'

He gave no sign of being put out by her barbed comment.

‘Oh, I think you're a girl who would have loved her father a lot if he'd been around a little longer, and figure somebody like me … Hey! What's the matter?' Declan pulled over on to a piece of solidly packed mud. He stopped the engine.

Frances couldn't help herself. Everything – seeing Ada again, Miriam running away just like her mother had done. Gertrude Powell saying her mother had been a slut. It was all too much. She just wanted to sob her heart out.

‘Hey,' he said, his voice softer now. ‘What's with you?'

Frances remained with her hands over her face as she shook her head. Her feelings were raw and torn already, even before he'd mentioned her father.

‘Hey. I wouldn't have been that tough to eat. Though perhaps I might. Is that what this is? I might stick in your throat?'

He was trying to be humorous, but Frances just couldn't respond in the same light manner. She'd never felt so intensely about her parents when she was growing up, so why now?

If she hadn't been overcome with emotion, perhaps she would have backed away when he put his arm around her. But she didn't. Instead, she found herself burying her face in his shoulder, her eyes tightly closed.

Declan rested his chin on her head, his free hand stroking her hair.

‘Frances, my sweet girl, I am a man who speaks his mind, or as you English would say, I do not mince my words. This means that I sometimes tread on the sensitive feelings of those more guarded than myself. I get the feeling that this is one of those times.'

He waited patiently until she came out from behind her hands. When she did, her eyes were very wide and at sight of them something in his expression changed.

‘Okay. Okay.' He nodded his head and spoke more gently, no trace of sarcasm or humour. ‘I see I need to eat humble pie. My profound apologies.'

He didn't rush her but waited for her to regain her self-control. Finally he said, ‘Do you want to tell me what's upsetting you?'

‘I wish I'd known my father better. You mentioning him and … everything … Worse was my mother running off and abandoning me.'

‘Seems I put my big feet in it good and proper.' He sighed deeply. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?'

‘I've already told Ed about my dad dying and my mother not being around.' She didn't know why she said it, but sensed it wouldn't be long before Declan's usual manner dominated their conversations.

‘So you told Ed? Well, I won't hold that against you.' He went quiet for a while. Frances got her handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose.

‘And you heard it from Ty.'

He looked contrite. ‘Men talk. I'm sorry.'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘So you moved in with your cousins.'

Frances nodded. ‘My mother left just after my father died. Uncle Stan brought me up.'

Declan nodded sagely. ‘I see.' He paused again. ‘You know, it's an old saying but a true one, that you can choose your friends but not your relatives. I guess that applies to parents too.'

‘I can't remember her,' Frances blurted out. ‘I think she looked something like me.'

She didn't add that her mother had worn red and had a reputation.

‘No. She wasn't like you.' His voice was like a caress, soft and comforting.

Not sure she understood, Frances looked at him quizzically. ‘How can you say that? You've never even met my mother!'

‘You are you,' he said, pointing a finger so close to her nose it almost made her go cross-eyed. ‘You're not your mother. You're a different person. You have some attributes inherited from your mother, but you also have a good dose from your father. That means you could be as much like your cousin Ruby or the married one; her name's Mary, right?'

Frances nodded.

‘I've yet to meet her, though seeing as your cousins are twins, I reckon it's a case of meet one and you've met the other.'

‘They're very alike,' said Frances, her voice more even. Declan doing all the talking made her feel less anxious.

‘So! I could be seeing double! Any secrets as to how I can tell them apart?'

Frances smiled. ‘Mary doesn't have the mole on her cheek that Ruby does.' She pointed to the very same spot on her own cheek.

‘Oh, sure! I've noticed her beauty spot.'

He sat looking at her for a moment.

Frances looked away. She could cope with meeting those bewitching eyes for only so long. It was also an expedient time for changing the subject.

‘I can't help wondering about Miriam, Ada's granddaughter, just going off like that. It sounds as though she might have had a crush on Mario. You know – the Italian who was there.' She said it blithely. Declan appeared to take it very seriously.

‘A prisoner of war, I take it.'

‘No, not exactly. He's lived in the forest for years and got arrested as an enemy alien. Then he was allowed his freedom as long as he did agricultural work of some description to anyone who wanted help. Ada nabbed him!'

‘Nabbed him!' Declan laughed. ‘I like that. Maybe I could get her a job in the US military police.'

Frances smiled. ‘I can just see her wearing a white helmet. I'd dare anyone to call her a Snowdrop, though.'

They both laughed at the term given by the Americans to their military police on account of their white helmets.

‘So do you think Miriam ran away because she was a woman scorned?'

‘Miriam gets fond of people who don't get fond of her. She liked my cousin Charlie and he didn't want her either. She's not very pretty.'

‘There's nothing like being blunt, my dear!' He took his arm from around her, settled both hands on the steering wheel and eyed the branches of trees hanging over a rough wooden fence.

‘Well, Charlie was very handsome and fun to be around. I don't blame her for liking him.'

‘You sound as though you were very fond of him. What was he like?'

‘Charlie was lovely.'

‘You're biased. He was a relative and as such …' He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of what he had just said. ‘He was Ruby's brother, the one who got torpedoed. I'm sorry. She did tell me.'

‘Yes. He fell in love with a woman called Gilda. That's where little Charlie comes from. Gilda got killed in an air raid.'

‘I recall Ruby saying something about it. I'm sorry, Frances. I shouldn't have mentioned it.' His hand covered hers.

Frances looked down at his hand, noting the dark hairs sprouting on the backs of the knuckles.

‘I hope Miriam's all right. She's not always … well … you know … not all there.'

‘It's us men,' said Declan, patting her hand. ‘I've been told by more than one woman that I'm driving her crazy.'

‘Are you making fun of me?'

‘No,' he said, grinning at the bright young face beaming up at him and thinking how pretty she was. ‘I wouldn't dare. You may be young, Frances Sweet, but you're very mature for your age.'

Rather than making her blush as a young girl to receive such flattery, she positively glowed.

Declan smiled at her and she smiled back.

‘Besides cookie boy Ed, has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?'

‘Some.'

‘Only some? Never mind. There's plenty of time.'

‘I'm sixteen next week. I'm having a party – well – it's at the village dance.'

‘That's a bit unfair, making you have your birthday party on the same day as the village dance.'

That was pretty much how Frances felt about it when she learned she wasn't to be allowed a separate party, but her protests had fallen on deaf ears. She pouted at the thought of how superior Ruby had been on delivering her decision.

‘There's a war on and we've got to make food stretch that bit further. And besides, everyone needs a bit of cheering up, what with all this fighting going on.'

There had been no point protesting any further. Ruby was immoveable once she'd made her mind up.

‘Will you be there?' she asked him.

Declan grinned before preparing to carry on with their journey. ‘I wouldn't miss it for the world!'

‘Ruby will like it lots if you're there.' She said it reluctantly. In a way, she didn't want Ruby to be there. She wanted Declan to herself.

His eyes crinkled at the corners; his smile was close-lipped but heart-warming for all that.

‘Never mind her liking it lots. How about you? Would you like it lots if I was there?'

She didn't blush when she looked into his face, but seeing as she felt no embarrassment, why should she?

‘I would love you to be there!'

Ruby ticked off the food she'd need for her next demonstration. Satisfied she had everything she needed on her list, she then turned her attention to providing a small buffet for the dance at the village hall, as well as a birthday cake for her cousin Frances.

The dances attended by the soldiers from the US base were happening every month now and overall were good fun, though providing a small buffet could be quite hard work. Sourcing ingredients was the main problem. Luckily the Americans contributed generously, and although it had been suggested she leave everything to their very efficient catering corps, her pride wouldn't let her. Other women in the village thought the same way, stating their intention to bring along what they could. Nobody liked the thought of their friends and neighbours – or the visiting Yanks – regarding them as mean or too poor to contribute anything.

The cake was another matter. She'd carefully saved a quantity of dried fruit including cherries soaked in sherry, the latter courtesy of Bettina Hicks.

‘I'm running low on brandy,' Bettina had apologised.

‘Sherry will do very nicely,' Ruby had responded.

Frances was humming and smiling to herself.

Ruby had an inkling what – or rather who – was responsible for her happy mood. A boy, no doubt. Frances was of that age.

‘So what's Ed buying you?'

Snatched from private thoughts, Frances looked up, her face a picture of innocence.

‘I'm not sure. Stockings, I expect. Oh, and perhaps a bag of sugar. He knows we always need sugar.'

Ruby shook her head and smiled in that grown-up way that made Frances feel like a child again, as though she could read her thoughts. How surprised her cousin would be if she knew it wasn't Ed she was thinking about, but Declan. He'd made a big impression on her and although she'd been a little shy in his company at first, she'd warmed to him. And now he crept into her mind when she least expected it. It surprised her that nobody seemed to guess what was developing between them. Even Pearl was convinced Frances would end up with Ed Bergman, the young American cook.

On their last evening out, Pearl had asked her if she'd gone ‘all the way'. Frances had told her to mind her own business.

‘It'll be okay,' said Pearl. ‘You can't get pregnant on your first time, everyone knows that.'

Frances wouldn't admit it to Pearl, but she was greatly relieved at this gem of information. After the last village dance, she and Ed had found a dark field screened by a hawthorn hedge.

Taking a leaf out of her friend Pearl's book, she'd given in to him. Perhaps she'd done it because Ed mentioned dying for his country at such a young age. Or it might have been down to getting a bit tipsy. Everyone said the time was getting close when the allied armies would invade Europe. Ed was so young, his face had turned so sad and she really had taken pity on him and done what she shouldn't have done. And now she was afraid, afraid of the consequences.