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and Clive had known each other since they were small children and as she had grown into a beautiful young woman, Clive had pursued her relentlessly and with all the assurance of his privileged situation. The Hobbs family with their acres and their property and their fingers in many pies were important people in King’s Thorpe. Still, the rector had demurred and prevaricated. Agnes was only eighteen. She had met so few young men in her sheltered life. Was she truly in love? Had she any idea what that should feel like? Did she feel anything close to the passion he had felt, and still felt, for her mother? He had worried about these things in private, but, in the end, there had been no real reason to withhold his consent – other than the irrational dislike of his future son-in-law, which he kept to himself. People told him how fortunate his daughter was. In his view, it was Clive who was the fortunate one.
    He had wondered sometimes since if Agnes was marrying to escape the wearing routine of rectory life, just as Sylvia had been desperate to escape, but when he had asked she had denied it vehemently and pointed out that she would still be living in the village and still intended to go on helping him. Her answer had made him wonder guiltily if
that
, instead, was part of the reason. She knew how much he depended on her in every way and marrying Clive meant she would stay in King’s Thorpe. There was no denying that he was selfishly thankful for it. He doubted, though, whether, once married, she would find it easy to carry out many parish duties. Clive Hobbs struck him as the kind of man who would demand a wife’s full attention. There had already been arguments, he knew, over her teaching at the kindergarten. Agnes had announced her intention of continuing; Clive wanted her to stop. The outcome remained to be seen.
    â€˜You’re not eating, Father. Is anything the matter?’
    â€˜No, nothing, my dear.’ He picked up his knife and fork. ‘I’m just a bit tired.’
    â€˜Mrs Gibbons sent a message. She says Mr Gibbons has taken a turn for the worse and she’d like you to go and see him as soon as you can.’
    Matthew Gibbons had been bedridden for several years, wavering uncertainly between this world and the next. There had been many false alarms about his final departure, but the rector always hurried to his bedside.
    â€˜And Mr Law rang about the magazine. I said you’d ring him back. Is the stew all right?’
    â€˜Delicious.’ He ate some more to please her. ‘We’re going to give a welcome party at the village hall for the American airmen when they arrive. It was agreed at the meeting. Nothing elaborate, of course. Just tea and sandwiches. Your help will be appreciated, my dear, if you can manage to spare the time.’
    â€˜When are they coming?’
    â€˜During the next week or so, apparently. The proposal is to invite the commanding officer and a limited number of others. Impossible to ask them all, with the best will in the world. But I feel we should do our utmost to welcome them and show that we care.’
    â€˜They haven’t cared very much about us up to now, have they?’
    He was rather taken aback; he had expected her full support, as always. ‘You can understand their reluctance to become involved in another European war.’
    â€˜I’m not sure I
can
understand – not very easily, anyway.
We
didn’t want to get involved in one again either, but we did because we wouldn’t stand by and let the Nazis tyrannize other countries. The Americans have only thought of themselves all along, haven’t they? Tom thinks they’re despicable.’
    â€˜Does he, indeed?’
    â€˜They wanted to keep their precious neutrality at all costs, didn’t they? They refused to help us and they’re only fighting now because the Japanese attacked them – not for our sake.’
    He said ruefully,