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‘The women took on all the jobs across the board around here during the war, Harry, including running our railway around the site. The fire officers were reserved, though, as you’d know.’

‘I’ll bet she’ll hate giving it up.’

She nodded. ‘Sheila is a brilliant swimmer too. These baths were built in 1908 because too many people died swimming in the river. The Rowntree family wanted them to still have a place to swim because it’s such a healthy pastime but they wanted their workers and their families to be safe. And yes, she’ll regret deeply having to relinquish her role, but that’s how it is. The men do deserve their jobs back.’

‘Hopefully your enlightened Quaker employers will continue finding worthy roles for the women and not just make them resign and go back to being servants in houses or stay-at-home mothers.’

‘That’s dangerous talk.’

‘Not really. I think women have proved they are every bit as valuable as men in most workplaces.’

‘Tell that to the politicians.’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘No need. The power of the people is going to win out. I can imagine a lot of women like your Sheila not wishing to go back to their old roles.’

She held the door open. ‘I like that you think that way.’

‘Does your husband view life in that manner?’

His question caught her off guard. He watched the consternation at how best to answer stall behind her slightly pouted lips. He tried to imagine the shape of those lips against his. ‘Er, yes, as a matter of fact, my husband is one of a rare enlightened breed who believe a woman should have all the same freedoms as men. It’s one of the principal reasons I married him.’

‘Excellent. So he gives you plenty of space to live your life your way, you mean?’

She hesitated. ‘I’m not permitted to discuss personal matters, Harry. I could get into trouble.’

He made a show of looking around them. ‘No one’s listening.’

‘You seem rather curious about my life.’

‘I’ve been gone a long time from real life. I’m curious about everyone and everything, especially those who were spared the brutality. People like you and your husband have the luxury of perspective.’

‘Is that a criticism?’

‘Not at all. Forgive me if I sound envious.’

Her gaze narrowed as she sized him up. ‘Nothing to forgive. Those of us left behind owe all of you who fought in Europe the most enormous debt.’ She found a bright smile. ‘Shall we head across to the factory? You must feel like sampling the chocolate now that you can smell it.’

He inhaled. ‘What am I smelling?’

‘That’s the cocoa beans roasting.’ She listed all the countries from which they were presently sourced. ‘Next comes winnowing, but I’ll show you all of it. You just say when you’ve had enough of my twittering.’

Her gaze found his and nothing was said but unless he was reading her altogether wrongly, some sort of message travelled on that glance, something warm and welcoming that seemed to Harry as though the chill of the last five years was being chased away and right in this iced moment he could swear it was a sunny day in June and not the midst of a northern winter. Even so, there was a feeling of autumn about Alex Frobisher. She was neither overly warm nor frosty either; there was restraint, though, a sort of melancholy underpinning her humour that she couldn’t hide. As autumn bridged joyful summer and moody winter, so he viewed Alex – he sensed regret somewhere within that she was working to conceal . . . as though forever looking back at summer but knowing her future was winter.

She finally showed she was human and shivered; it dragged him from his thoughts and he aided her once again into her coat before she pulled on fine leather gloves and a scarf. ‘They say it’s going to snow tomorrow. You’d better hurry back south,’ she said, as he strode alongside her, crossing the Haxby Road.

‘I’m in no hurry,’ he admitted.

12

Alex excused herself. ‘Forgive me, I just have to get us some factory passes,’ she lied.

‘Go ahead, please,’ he offered. ‘Should I wait here?’

‘Please do. I’ll be two ticks.’ She pushed past the heavy door into an empty office, leaned against the wall and blew out an unsteady breath. Harry Blake was a novelty she had not seen coming and there was no denying she was guilty of flirting with him. However, she was not part of a pack of factory-floor single women where there was safety in numbers for coquettish, risqué behaviour. She was from one of York’s leading families and married into major money of another leading family – she heard this in her mind spoken in her mother’s scolding tone. If she were honest, she was enjoying herself in Harry Blake’s company. It wasn’t often that such a dashing figure of a man circled into one’s orbit, especially with the dearth of men of recent years; chance had brought him through the factory doors and he would be gone within a few hours. Their banter was harmless, she assured herself.

Even so, she raised her ungloved hands from the chill of the tiles to cool her cheeks. She must behave demurely and give no cause for raised eyebrows or especially to give him the wrong impression; she’d already revealed far too much about herself to the handsome newcomer. She rinsed her hands beneath freezing water and emerged into the corridor flicking away the water for appearance’s sake. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,’ she breezed, averting her gaze from the penetrating look of his unsettling grey-green stare.

‘Don’t be. I’m slightly undone by the smell. After where I’ve been, the thought of working in this environment is seductive and I can well imagine your reluctance to leave it.’