‘I don’t know,’ said Marmion.

‘Is she the sort of person who’d convince a jury?’

‘I can’t say, Alice. The truth is that I’ve never met Ruth Stein.’

Staring ahead of her, Ruth sat upright in bed. Her face was drawn and her eyes were pools of despair. Miriam Stein sat on a chair beside the bed, holding her daughter’s hand and trying to temper her criticism with tenderness. Ruth had lost her nerve. Having taken enough of the pills to make her feel ill, she’d abandoned her suicide attempt and turned in a panic to her mother. After treatment in hospital, Ruth had been sent back home again.

‘Suicide is a criminal act,’ said Miriam, quietly. ‘Judaism is very clear on that. Someone who commits suicide is considered to be a murderer. Is that how you wished to be remembered?’

‘No, Mother,’ whispered Ruth. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’d have brought such shame upon the family.’

‘I did it because of my own shame.’

‘Remember your teaching. You must think of your soul.’

Ruth nodded and tears began to form. She was sick, distraught and helpless. Conscious that suicide was anathema in her religion, she had nevertheless been unable to resist the impulse to end her life. She would now have to face further guilt and misery. Her life had become even more unbearable.

Miriam waited a short while then rose to her feet.

‘I’ll send in Rabbi Hirsch,’ she said, moving to the door. ‘After you’ve spoken with him, your Uncle Herman wants to see you.’

Ruth was frightened. Closing her eyes, she started to pray.

One day in her sister’s company convinced Irene Bayard that she’d made the right decision in coming to live in London. There was a dimension of peace and security there. Dorothy Holdstock led an uncomplicated life. She had a full-time job, a small circle of friends and she shared her home with an undemanding old lady. Miss James occupied the downstairs front room behind thick lace curtains. In spite of her disability, she remained active. She would visit friends on most days and her younger brother would come up from Brighton once a fortnight to take her out for lunch. Much of the time, Dorothy was unaware of her presence. It was only when Miss James emerged to visit the bathroom or to make use of the kitchen that the two women had a proper conversation. A copper bell was the link between them. When it was rung three times, it was a signal for Dorothy to enter her lodger’s domain.

‘Does she still clean her own room?’ asked Irene.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Dorothy. ‘I offered to do it when I clean the rest of the house but Miss James wouldn’t hear of it. She doesn’t like anyone else in there and she’s quite able to spruce the place up.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I daren’t ask and she wouldn’t, in any case, tell me. She gave up having birthdays many years ago.’

‘I admire her independence.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing compared to yours, Irene.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Irene, surprised by the envy in her sister’s voice. ‘I’ve never been really independent.’

‘Yes, you have,’ countered Dorothy. ‘When most women lose a husband so young, as you did, they’re likely to shrink back into their shell. You came out of yours. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that you were going to sail thousands of miles a year across the ocean on a Cunard liner. If that’s not independence — what is?’

‘It’s not as wonderful as it sounds,’ warned Irene. ‘I was a member of the crew and I had no independence at all on board. If I’d been a passenger, of course, it would have been a different matter.’

‘Weren’t you afraid when you sailed from New York this time?’

‘No, Dot, I wasn’t.’

‘But there were threats to all shipping from the Germans.’

‘I ignored them and got on with my job.’

‘What would you do if the same situation arose again?’

Irene was brisk. ‘It won’t arise,’ she said. ‘I never wish to go to sea again. My home is here now. All I need to do is to find a new job.’

‘There’s no hurry — you’ve earned a rest.’

‘I’m not the restful type.’

Dorothy laughed. ‘I discovered that years ago,’ she said. ‘You’re always on the go. I could never keep up with you.’

It was late evening and the two of them were sitting in the living room with a glass of cheap sherry apiece. As she looked around, Irene saw that the wallpaper was fading and that the paintings chosen by their parents were still on the wall. Time had stood still in the house. It was at once comforting and saddening. If she was to live there on a permanent basis, Irene thought, she would insist on redecoration. But that could wait. All she wished to do now was to ease back into an old existence.

Dorothy glanced at the evening paper on the arm of the sofa.

‘Did you find anything that tempted you?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Irene. ‘There are plenty of jobs advertised but I’d like to know a bit more about them before I commit myself.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I wanted something that gets me out and about. I’d like a job that helps me to meet new people all the time.’

‘Then you should work in our shop,’ said Dorothy, chuckling. ‘We have all sorts coming through the door.’

‘I’m not sure it would suit me, Dot.’

‘Then what would?’

‘Well,’ said Irene, reaching for the newspaper, ‘one of the adverts that caught my eye was to do with trams.’

‘You mean, working as a conductress?’

‘I might start as that but I’d really want to be a driver. Apart from anything else, they earn more money. The tram that brought me here had a woman driver.’ Having opened the paper to the correct page, she passed it to her sister. ‘There you are — down at the bottom. I put a circle round it.’

‘There are four or five circles.’

‘Those are other jobs I might go after.’

‘Here we are,’ said Dorothy, finding the advertisement and reading the details. ‘Well, why not? A job on the trams would give you continuity.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s another form of transport. You start off on ships then you move on to trams. You’d certainly meet lots of people that way.’ There was a twinkle in Dorothy’s eye. ‘You might even get a proposal of marriage out of one of them.’

Irene smiled wanly. ‘No, thank you. That’s all behind me.’

‘You never know.’

‘Oh yes I do. My future is here with you and Miss James.’

‘She was thrilled when I told her you were back.’

‘Good — it feels so right, Dot.’

‘Let’s celebrate with another glass, shall we?’

Putting the newspaper aside, Dorothy topped up their glasses from the sherry bottle. It was such a long time since she’d been able to share a companionable drink with anyone. Indeed, very few people were even invited into the house. Such as it was, Dorothy’s social life took place elsewhere. She regarded her sister through narrowed lids.

‘What was he like, Irene?’

‘Who?’

‘I’m talking about the chap who fell madly in love with you.’

Irene gave a half-laugh. ‘I don’t know about falling in love,’ she said. ‘Ernie wasn’t romantic in that way. He just wanted a woman and I happened to be the one on hand.’

‘There must have been more to it than that.’

After thinking it over, Irene gave an affirmative nod.

‘There was, Dot.’

‘Well?’

‘It no longer seems to matter. Ernie Gill belongs to a past life before the ship went down. Everything is different now. I’ve no regrets about what I did. I just don’t want to dwell on it.’

‘In other words, I’m to mind my own business.’

‘I’d just like you to give me more time to … settle down.’

‘I understand,’ said Dorothy, sweetly. ‘You want to forget.’

‘This sherry will help me to do that.’

They clinked their glasses then sipped their drinks. After they chatted for another hour, Dorothy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw how late it was.