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‘Do I seem reluctant?’ She grinned, realising she was at it again.

‘You’re proud. That shows. They’re fortunate to have such an invested tour guide.’

‘Thank you. Let me show you where all the fun takes place.’

‘Do I need a pass?’ he wondered.

She tapped an empty pocket as though she had them safe. ‘No, only if they ask,’ she fibbed.

They fell in step together and, once into the familiar territory of the factory floors she had grown to love, Alex lost herself in her guiding. She had long ago stopped worrying about the special handbook she’d been asked to memorise. Guiding was easy when you loved the subject you were showing off to people.

‘. . . the world’s finest quality and strong flavour of chocolate. And of course there’s a coupon in there,’ she said, handing him a tin of the famous Rowntree Elect Cocoa.

‘Excellent, so I only require forty-seven more to enjoy a free gift,’ he said.

‘You are paying attention,’ she praised, as they pushed through doors and began descending a flight of stairs.

‘It’s mesmerising,’ he admitted.

‘Well, you’ll enjoy our conching machines, then. I can lose half an hour of my life just standing here and watching what began as hard dry nibs that are roasted and winnowed, suddenly becoming a precious, molten-like, glossy liquid. Onto the Melangeur, which we passed by to be mixed with freshly dehydrated milk, sugar, and here we are. Look,’ she said, easing him into a room where open, coffin-like machines containing a granite roller relentlessly pushed liquid chocolate back and forth to stir it. ‘This happens for anything up to twenty hours, never less than twelve. I should add, it doesn’t look like this when it first arrives – more like coarse sand. It’s the conching that turns it back to the liquid you recognise here as delicious chocolate.’

He gave a low whistle of admiration.

‘This is where the magic takes place, to be honest. Without this process you wouldn’t get that silky finish in your mouth, the chocolate wouldn’t melt – it would feel gritty. The flavours are developed through this process and the cocoa butter blends with the sugar and vanilla.’

‘And then it becomes chocolate to buy?’

‘It’s then sent to what we call our Cake Department where the chocolate is effectively manufactured into huge blocks to be stored. It’s those blocks that are melted for use in the forming of the cake of chocolate.’

‘What are those tanks?’ He nodded towards huge vats.

‘They’re quite new. We’re all very proud of them. These can store nearly 1500 pounds or seventy-five tonnes of liquid chocolate.’

‘Good grief!’

‘I know, mind-boggling. And it’s constantly agitated.’

‘So it’s further refined?’

She clapped her hands. ‘Well done, Harry. That’s exactly what’s occurring. The flavour is being mellowed and improved with every extra hour of stirring. A uniform temperature is maintained so we always have a ready supply of finished chocolate to send to any department for the final variety of products, from bars to individual selections.’

‘I’m sure you’re simplifying the process for your visitors.’

‘I am, but if I started to tell you about tempering chocolate and how to extract cocoa butter and what different chocolates mean, I think I’d run the severe risk of boring you.’

‘I don’t think you could ever bore me, Alex.’

She felt skewered by his unblinking gaze and tried to conjure what the unusual, light colour of his eyes reminded her of. Artichoke, was all she could think of. ‘Time to taste, I think,’ she said. She held the door for him as they entered a single-storey building with a pitched roof of clear glazing. ‘This is one of the packing rooms but as you can see it’s not in use today.’ She pointed out all the benches and equipment, and how the product moved around the room. ‘And then off it goes into the storerooms awaiting transport via rail to our depots all over the country, from Glasgow to London. And from those depots, the goods are distributed by motor to our customers – the grocery stores and sweetshops of Britain.’

‘Marvellous,’ he breathed, awed at the scale of the Rowntree operation.

‘I worked in this room,’ she admitted, sounding nostalgic. ‘It was only for a few weeks but I remember it fondly as my first job for the firm.’

‘You were a packer?’ He sounded impressed rather than shocked, which made her smile.

‘Briefly.’ Alex strolled to where she remembered she spent her first hours as a packer, laughing with Nel, writing that silly secret note to a random soldier. She wondered who had received it . . . where it was now. Did he still scratch his head over Kitty? Or had her note been buried beneath the mud of France or Belgium? She ran her fingers over the familiar bench. ‘I was volunteering at the Friends Hospital and would spend a few hours working here against my parents’ wishes.’ Alex sighed. ‘I never did tell them about working so often for Rowntree’s until I got the job as the tour guide for the visitor centre.’ She shifted her gaze onto her companion. ‘And I have absolutely no idea why I shared that little secret. Can I count on your discretion, Mr Blake?’

‘On two conditions.’