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father has a draper’s shop in Highgate. Not far from where we live,’ he said evenly.
    Letty’s tension relaxed instantly. His people were trade, same as hers. For all his posh talk he helped his father in a shop, just as she did. And here she had been, putting on airs and graces, or trying to, and all the time he was just a tradesman’s son! Even the ten years’ difference in their ages seemed to diminish. Yes, he was good-looking she decided, his face lean and strong, though that longish narrow nose still spoiled the balance a little.
    ‘You never said your dad had a shop,’ she burst out. He had quite a gentle smile, not at all superior or patronising.
    ‘You were so enjoying yourself at your sister’s wedding reception, I thought you wouldn’t be interested in such dull conversation.’
    ‘Oh, I would have been,’ she blurted. ‘I am. Ever so.’ She caught herself hastily, slowing what could have become a gabble. ‘I didn’t think you were very interested in me, so I … Well, I …’
    Words faltered, died away awkwardly. She couldn’t tell him how she had felt about him, could she?
    It didn’t seem to matter. He was looking at her as if she was something really special; she might have been wearing a ballgown and tiara the way his eyes took her in.
    ‘Your dad, do … does he ’ave … a big shop?’ She was stammering in her haste to sound right. ‘It ain’t … isn’t a departmental stores, is it?’
    ‘Just a shop,’ he said, his eyes holding hers. ‘It does quite well and it needs to be larger. That isn’t possible, so we’ve had to find bigger premises nearby, and it’s taken up a lot of time getting things into shape. That’s why I couldn’t come to call on you.’
    Oh, help! her mind exploded. There were shop people and shop people. Her father was one of the lesser ones against his. ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said lamely. ‘I just thought …’
    It didn’t matter what she thought, being polite and good-mannered, David Baron had merely called to apologise for any oversight on his part, no more than that. Disappointment dragged through her and she looked down at herself again.
    ‘Well, thanks fer calling anyway. It was nice.’
    ‘Letitia.’ He had come closer. She glanced up to see him gazing at her. ‘I’ve called to ask …’
    He broke off, the shop bell jangling. Customers, a middle-aged couple, quite well dressed. Excusing herself hastily, Letty hurried over to stand by as they picked up a small flower-encrusted vase.
    The woman turned to her, unsmiling, vase in hand. ‘How much?’
    Letty craned her neck politely, ignoring the rudeness. ‘It says four and six on the ticket.’
    ‘You can’t possibly expect that much for something that is damaged! It has a chip on the rim.’
    ‘Some stuff does come in a bit damaged,’ Letty said, politely as she could. Used to this type of treatment from customers, her diction seemed to improve naturally when dealing with them. But in front of Mr David Baron, she felt suddenly demeaned, felt the heat come to her cheeks. ‘We are second hand dealers, you see. But if you want to look around, there may be something you’d like that is in good condition.’
    ‘No, I want this, Alfred.’ The woman turned to the man who was obviously her husband. ‘It’s very like the one Alice broke, and she’s paying for it.’ She turned to Letty, her eyes hard. ‘But four and six really is far too much for something in this condition. We’ll give you three shillings and sixpence for it.’
    ‘I’d better ask the proprietor,’ Letty began, but as the woman put down the ornament with a somewhat heavy thud, signifying an obvious intention to leave, Letty came to a decision. ‘I could take four shillings for it,’ she said cautiously.
    She waited, watching the woman take up the article again, examine it, frown at it, turn it over in her gloved hands. She knew the signs and waited patiently to one side, not prompting or persuading. The