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which, it seemed to Rona, thrived in abundance throughout the year in a higgledy-piggledy, unregimented mass of scent and colour. Now, after a mild winter, snowdrops and daffodils bloomed together, and the pale yellow of early primroses glinted in the light from the porch.
    From force of habit, she closed the five-barred gate before letting Gus out of the car, and he ran up the path ahead of her. Dinah came hurrying out to meet them, and Rona, a good six inches taller than her friend, found her face buried in a mane of thick, wiry black hair as she was enthusiastically embraced.
    â€˜Wonderful to see you, lovey!’ Dinah exclaimed, standing back to survey her with beaming approval. A small, dynamic woman, she had a surprisingly deep voice and a rich laugh that was highly infectious.
    â€˜Let the poor girl come into the house, woman!’ Barnie called from the doorway. ‘It’s none too warm out there!’
    Dinah linked her arm through Rona’s and, with Gus pushing ahead of them, they went inside, allowing Barnie to close the door on the chill evening air. Rona handed him the bottle of wine she’d brought and was, as always, chided for her trouble. A delicious smell of herbs and garlic filled the hallway as she shrugged out of her coat and went thankfully into the long living-room. Lychee and May-Ling, two of the cats, opened slitty blue eyes from their vantage point on the sofa and, seeing nothing of interest, curled round each other and went back to sleep. Gus, having performed his ritual greetings, flopped down happily in front of the fire and Rona seated herself on the sofa beside the cats.
    Barnie handed her a glass of her favourite vodka and Russchian, passed Dinah her gin and tonic, and raised his own glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to us!’ he said.
    â€˜Who’s like us?’ they dutifully responded.
    â€˜So – what’s been happening in your neck of the woods?’ Dinah enquired, perching on the arm of a chair.
    â€˜Not a great deal.’ Again, Rona was tempted to tell them of Meriel Harvey’s approach and their subsequent meeting, but again she held back. Time enough for that if and when she went ahead. ‘What about you?’ she went on quickly. ‘How are Melissa and the family?’
    The Trents’ only daughter was living in the States and they had flown out to spend a month with her the previous summer.
    â€˜Expecting again,’ Dinah told her proudly. ‘Due in August.’
    â€˜That’s great, but I suppose it means she won’t be coming home this year?’
    â€˜No, from our point of view, she timed it badly!’ Dinah slipped off her perch to retrieve a framed photograph from the bookcase and brought it over. ‘This is the latest picture of Sam.’
    Rona studied the blond, blue-eyed little boy sitting on a tricycle, an enormous Christmas tree behind him. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ she said.
    Dinah nodded placid agreement, replaced the photo and excused herself to attend to the meal, declining Rona’s offer of help. Barnie put on a classical CD, and Rona leant back against the cushions with a sigh of contentment. She always felt relaxed here – more so, in fact, than at her parents’, where she was vaguely conscious of unfulfilled expectations and a certain unspoken criticism. Probably to do with the non-appearance of grandchildren, she thought now, her eyes straying to the photo of young Sam.
    â€˜You look tired, girl,’ Barnie said suddenly.
    â€˜I’ve had a busy day.’
    â€˜Writing?’
    â€˜No, I – had to drive over to Cricklehurst this morning, and Gus and I had a long walk in the country on the way home. An excess of fresh air, that’s what it is!’
    â€˜Well, I hope it’s also given you an appetite.’
    â€˜It has,’ Rona affirmed, remembering the discarded sandwich that had constituted her lunch.
    Dinah bustled back with a plate of warm