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‘Who is this for?’ was his first response.

‘For you… for me,’ she replied, twirling to show off the wide skirt of the dress to its best advantage.

Danjel smiled at his mother. ‘You look beautiful, Mama.’

‘She looks like a slut!’ Lawrenz hissed.

Valentina blinked in shock as the final word landed like a slap.

‘All that skin on show. You want me to walk out with a wife showing off her body to all the men in town, is that it?’

‘No, Lawrenz… no, of course not.’

‘Take it off and burn it. You only wear respectable clothes around me, woman.’

She had dutifully taken off the dress and folded it back up, and rather than burning it as he’d said, she placed it under the tablecloths in her linen cupboard where he would never look. He’d asked her about it a few days later.

‘I gave it away,’ she lied.

He’d narrowed his eyes at her and said, ‘Don’t ever wear anything like that again.’

She’d vowed to herself that one day she would wear that dress when he was not around to see her. He could take many things from her, but not everything.

Today was that day.

The fabric’s creases were so deep it had needed a proper steaming and a hot iron, but it didn’t smell musty once she’d aired it. It was perhaps not as fashionable as a dress of today, but everyone in Valletta wore a motley of clothes, some prewar, some newly made, and no one particularly cared. War had forced new ways upon them all. Looking at it now in the mirror, she was surprised by how much she still loved it, despite the memories of Lawrenz’s scathing attack. Today she felt beautiful.

Peter turned up a few minutes later with flowers and a new football for Danjel. At first he looked sheepish, but she smiled to let him know there were no hard feelings. He didn’t say anything for a moment as he stood in the doorway, staring at her.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m… I’m speechless. Valentina, you’re beyond beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, blushing. She took the flowers he held out, and let him kiss her cheek. So different to Lawrenz. Ugh, she felt sickened at the thought of his arrival home. It was still so far away and yet already too soon.

‘Danjel! Peter’s here,’ she called. ‘Farewell gifts?’ she asked him, but she was smiling. ‘It’s all right. Take no notice of me.’

‘Valentina,’ Peter said, sounding earnest. ‘We need to talk about yesterday. I feel⁠—’

‘Nothing more to say,’ she cut in, shaking her head. ‘Truly. In fact, I should apologise to you for my behaviour yesterday. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I try not to allow that behaviour to creep into my life because it does no one any good. I’m sorry for how I reacted.’

He glanced towards the doorway, looking for Danjel, who had not yet appeared. ‘Listen, would you consider schooling Danjel in England?’

She stepped back. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘To get him away from here, would you let him go to school in England?’

‘And be like you?’

He caught her meaning immediately. ‘No! He could be a day scholar, come home every day like any other student.’

‘Home to where?’

‘To my home. I live in a big house. It’s in a city, but it’s surrounded by glorious countryside. It doesn’t have the sea, or the beach, of course⁠—’

‘Or his mother,’ she said, her voice hardening.

‘He could…’ Peter met her gaze.