‘But was it so perfect? Is any marriage ever that?’ she asked. ‘And have you ever thought that you weren’t actually married for long enough for the gilt to wear off the gingerbread?’

I looked at her, startled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you were very happy, but even the best relationships change over time: their little ways start to irritate you and you have to learn a bit of give and take. Alan wasn’t perfect and neither are you: none of us are. Look at me and Dan, for instance. He can’t understand why I need forty-six pairs of shoes and I hate coming second in his life to rugby — but we still love each other.’

‘Apart from our work, the only thing Alan and I didn’t do together was the running — we shared everything else.’

‘But one or both of you might have felt that was a bit claustrophobic eventually. Alan was a dreamer too — and he dreamed of writing. You couldn’t do that together.’

‘Well, I didn’t stop him,’ I said defensively. ‘In fact, I encouraged him, though the teaching took up a lot of his time and energy. And I was going to write a house-party cookbook, so we did share that interest too, in a way.’

‘Oh yes — I’d forgotten about the cookbook. You haven’t mentioned it for ages.’

‘It’s nearly finished, just one more section to go.’

That was the one dealing with catering for a Christmas house-party, which I had been putting off.

‘I do realise the dynamics of the relationship would have changed when we had children, Laura, but we had it all planned. I wish now we hadn’t waited so long, though.’

‘There you are, then,’ she said triumphantly, ‘if you find someone else, it’s not too late to start a family — look at me!’

‘Funnily enough I was thinking about that in Devon, and I decided that although I don’t want another man, I do want a baby before it’s too late. So I thought I’d try artificial insemination. What do you think?’

She stared at me from startled, long-lashed blue eyes. ‘Really? Well, I suppose you could,’ she conceded reluctantly after a minute. ‘But wouldn’t you prefer to try the natural way first?’

‘No,’ I said simply. ‘I want the baby to be just mine.’

‘How would you manage financially? Have you thought it through?’

‘I own the cottage,’ I pointed out, because I’d paid off the mortgage on our terraced house with the insurance money after Alan died, then moved out to an even smaller cottage in the countryside between Ormskirk and Merchester. ‘And I thought I could finish off the cookery book and maybe start doing party catering from home.’

‘I’m not sure you’ve seen all the pitfalls of going it alone with a small child, but I know what you’re like when you’ve made your mind up,’ she said resignedly. Then she brightened and added, ‘But I could help you and it would be lovely to be able to see more of you.’

‘Yes, that would be great and I’ll be counting on you for advice if I get pregnant.’

‘I must say, you’ve really surprised me, though.’

‘I surprised myself, but something Gran said right at the end made me realise I ought to go out there and get what I want, before it’s too late.’

‘You mean when she said some man’s name you’d never heard of?’

I nodded. ‘It was the way she said it — and she could see him, too. I’d never seen her smile like that, so she must have loved and lost him, whoever he was — and perhaps her journal will tell me that eventually. Her face went all soft, and I could see how beautiful she must have been when she was young.’

‘Just like you, with the same black hair and light grey eyes.’

‘Laura, you can’t say I’m beautiful! I mean, apart from being the size of a maypole, I’ve got a big, beaky nose.’

‘You’re striking, and your nose isn’t beaky, it’s only got the tiniest hint of a curve in it,’ she said loyally. ‘Sam’s right, you do look like that bust of Nefertiti you see in photographs. . though your hair is a bit more Cleopatra.’

I was flattered but unconvinced. Gran’s skin had been peaches and cream and mine was heading towards a warm olive so that I look Mediterranean apart from my light eyes. Gran’s mother’s family came from Liverpool originally, so I daresay I have some foreign sailor in my ancestry to thank for my colouring — and maybe my height, which has been the bane of my existence.

‘I quite liked Sam, because at least he didn’t talk to my boobs, like a lot of men do,’ I conceded and then immediately regretted it, because she said eagerly, ‘So you will come to us, if only for Christmas dinner? I promise not to push you together, but it would give you a chance to get to know him a bit and—’

My phone emitted a strangled snatch of Mozart and I grabbed it. Saved by the muzak.

Chapter 2

Little Mumming

At my last hospital I was frequently left in sole command of a children’s ward in a separate building, night after night. When the air raid sirens went I took all the children down to a dark and damp cellar, where I had to beat hundreds of cockroaches off the cots and beds before they could be used. Finally, earlier this year, weakened by too many night shifts, lack of sleep (for I found it impossible to sleep during the day), too much responsibility and poor food, my health broke down and I was sent home to recover.

October 1944

I hoped the call wasn’t the man from Chris’s Clearance saying he’d decided against collecting Gran’s fairly worthless sticks of furniture and bric-a-brac, but no, it was Ellen from the Homebodies agency.

‘Holly, you know I said there was nothing else on the books over Christmas?’ she said in her slightly harsh voice, without any preamble. Ellen doesn’t do polite, except to the customers. ‘Well, now something’s come up and I’m going to ask you to do it for me as a big, big favour!’

‘A favour?’ My spirits lifted. ‘You mean a house-sitting big favour?’

Laura caught my eye and grimaced, shaking her head and mouthing, ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Yes, a major crisis has just blown up,’ Ellen explained. ‘You remember Mo and Jim Chirk?’

‘You’ve mentioned them several times, but I haven’t met them. They’re one of your longest-serving and most dependable house-sitting couples, aren’t they?’

‘They were,’ she said darkly. ‘And they were supposed to be house-sitting up on the East Lancashire moors over Christmas — they’d been two or three times and the owner asked for them again — but no sooner had they got there than their daughter had her baby prematurely and they’re flying out to Dubai to be with her.’

‘You mean, they’ve already gone?’

‘They’re on their way home to repack and get their passports, then they’re booked onto the first flight out. They phoned me just before they left — and so they should, too, because they’ve dropped me right in it!’

‘It doesn’t sound as if they could help it, Ellen — it’s just one of those things. I hope the baby is all right.’

‘Which baby?’

‘Their daughter’s baby.’

‘I have no idea,’ she said dismissively, which wasn’t any surprise, since where business is concerned she’s totally single-minded.

‘Look, could you help me out by taking the job on? It should be two people really, because it’s a large manor house in its own grounds, and a bit remote and there are a couple of pets to look after, too. Only there’s no-one else free on the books apart from you. Could you possibly go? Tomorrow? I’ll make sure you get double pay,’ she wheedled.

‘If there are pets, who’s looking after them at the moment?’

‘The owner’s elderly aunt and uncle live in the lodge and say they will keep an eye on things until you get there, but I don’t think they can really be up to it, or presumably Mr Martland wouldn’t have needed Homebodies in the first place.’

‘Martland?’ I interrupted.

‘Yes, Jude Martland. Have you heard of him? He’s quite a well-known sculptor — he did the Iron Horse next to the motorway near Manchester, all welded strips of metal — very modern.’

‘Oh yes, I think I have. But actually, I heard that surname recently in another context and it’s unusual, that’s why I was surprised.’

‘Just a coincidence, then — truth is stranger than fiction,’ she said, disinterestedly rustling some papers.

‘That’s true,’ I agreed, and of course these Martlands could have no relationship to the Ned Martland Gran had mentioned (assuming I’d even heard the name right): she was a working-class girl and wouldn’t have mixed in the same circles as minor gentry from moorland manor houses.

‘Anyway, he inherited the pile, which is called Old Place, about a year ago and he’s abroad somewhere, but so far we haven’t managed to get hold of him to tell him what’s happening. He isn’t coming back until Twelfth Night.’

I’d turned away from Laura’s disappointed face, though I could feel her eyes boring accusingly into my back. I was starting to suspect she’d hastily invited her cousin Sam for Christmas as soon as I’d told her my Christmas job had fallen through — the idea had probably never crossed her mind until then.

‘It doesn’t sound too arduous,’ I said to Ellen. ‘I’ve looked after quite big houses before single-handedly. What are the pets you mentioned?’

‘One dog and. . a horse.’

‘A horse? You call a horse a pet? Ellen, I don’t do horses!’

‘It’s very elderly and you do know a bit about horses, because you went to that riding school with Laura, remember.’

‘I only watched her, that hardly qualifies me to look after someone’s horse, does it?’