The one person Jemima was sure was never in his thoughts was herself.
He was pleasant to her, did what she asked and appreciated the way she cooked, but she was quite certain that it had never for a moment struck him that she was his wife in the real sense of the word or that he might find her an attractive woman as Freddy obviously did.
“I love – him! I love – him!” she whispered into her pillow.
Then, when her heart started to ache and she thought despairingly that she could never mean anything real or important to him, she chided herself for being ungrateful.
She could see him every day, hear him and look after him and, although instinctively she wanted more, she was determined to be thankful for what she had already.
Sometimes she felt as if her mother was with her, guiding and he
