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non-driver.
    Frances retreated back behind the head-rests and turned her attention to Tobias, who had tired of the journey almost before they had left the suburbs. Her efforts to entertain him were rather inhibited by the presence of the passengers in the front seat.
    â€œLet’s see who can spot the most yellow vans.”
    â€œI can’t see any.”
    â€œWell, horses, then. There’s one in that field.”
    â€œThere aren’t any more.”
    â€œThere might be, in a minute.”
    â€œActually, we’re coming to a town now, so it’s not really fair on him.”
    â€œAre you feeling sick, Tobias?” Lesley screwed round in her seat. “He sometimes does feel sick in cars.”
    Her son weighed up the idea, and decided in favour.
    â€œYes. I need a sweetie.”
    â€œOh - did Daddy remember to bring any sweeties?”
    â€œDaddy thought Mummy was packing the food, actually.”
    â€œActually, Mummy thought things for the car were Daddy’s responsibility.”
    â€œI’ve got some peppermints in my bag,” said Frances.
    â€œI’m afraid Tobias doesn’t like mints.”
    â€œShall I read you a story?” Frances saw that Lesley was about to suggest looking for a sweet-shop in the middle of the Witney bypass. “We brought ‘The Little Blue Elephant’, didn’t we?”
    Tobias eyed the book, wondering how much fuss to make about the sweet, and Frances hastily began to read.
    He interrupted after a sentence or two. “Are we nearly there yet?”, and this became his refrain every few miles for the rest of the way. Frances, trying to read in a jolting car in bad light, began to feel sick herself.
    â€œI’d like one of those,” said Tobias, watching her unwrap a mint.
    He finally fell asleep as they turned up the steep lane which led to Haseley village, and Frances was able to look around her.
    She found that they were high up. A sweeping view of fields in every shade of brown and green stretched into the distance, lit softly by the low winter sun. The lane was bordered by an old wall, its patchwork of grey stone, green moss and yellow lichen echoing the fields beyond. The little hedged paddocks round her own village seemed suburban by contrast.
    â€œIt’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “What a lovely place it must have been to grow up in.”
    Lesley turned and put an angry finger to her lips, indicating the sleeping child.
    â€œIt’s all right in the summer, I suppose,” said Stephen, who hadn’t seen her. “But of course there’s no one to talk to - no one intellectual, I mean.” He nodded dismissively at the cottages they were now passing. “Haseley’s the only decent house for miles.”
    Frances looked at the indecent houses huddled cosily under thatched roofs, glimpses of Christmas trees glittering in the windows, and felt a pang of homesickness.
    â€œHere it is!”
    The car turned between a pair of gaunt stone pillars and up a driveway shrouded by gloomy evergreens. Then suddenly the view opened out, revealing the house in all its glory.
    â€œUgh!” Frances gasped.
    A Victorian monstrosity was the phrase that came to mind. It was like something out of a Gothic horror film. She gaped incredulously, taking in the battlements, the gargoyles, the stained-glass windows, and a huge turret at one end.
    â€œIt is rather fine, isn’t it?” said Stephen. “Better than anything in North Oxford, I always think.”
    They had drawn up beside a flight of steps leading to an ornate Tudor-style porch. Lesley glared at the closed oak door.
    â€œYou’ll have to ring the bell, Stephen. You’d think Father might have opened the door when he heard the car! Oh dear, how are we going to get Tobias out without waking him?”
    Frances knew this was impossible, and steeled herself for the wail as Tobias was extracted from his safety-harness. He