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patient, and with time Gemma had come to see that what they had was worth preserving at any risk.
    So, at last, on a lovely day the past August, they’d had an informal blessing of their partnership in the garden of their home in London’s Notting Hill. A few weeks later, they’d made it legal in the Chelsea register office.
    And now, in late October, with the older children on half-term break from school, Winnie and Jack had invited Duncan and Gemma and their respective families to Compton Grenville so that Winnie could give their marriage the formal celebration she felt it deserved.
    The ceremony in Winnie’s church on Saturday afternoon had been everything Gemma had wanted; simple, personal, and heart-felt, it had sealed their partnership in a way that was somehow different. Third time’s the charm, as Duncan kept telling her. And perhaps he was right, because now circumstances had brought another child into their lives, little not-quite-three-year-old Charlotte Malik.
    Winnie turned from the mountain of breakfast dishes, the result of the gargantuan farewell breakfast she’d made for the weekend’s guests. “A horror film? What?” Winnie, having wiped suds on the end of her nose, looked comically quizzical.
    The green and tomato-red vicarage kitchen was a comfortable, and comforting, place, and Winnie was a good friend who had seen Gemma through some difficult times.
    On this Tuesday morning, with the visit almost over and everyone gone except Duncan’s parents, Gemma and Winnie had finally snagged a moment alone for a gossipy postmortem of the weekend. Gemma had offered to do the washing-up, but Winnie had insisted that Gemma enjoy a last few minutes with Winnie and Jack’s baby daughter.
    Gemma settled little Constance more comfortably in her lap. “Well, maybe horror film is a bit steep,” she amended, smiling. But her amusement faded as she thought about the blot on an otherwise perfect weekend. “Sometimes,” she said, “my sister is just a bitch.”
    Winnie stripped off her washing-up gloves and came to sit at the table beside her, reaching for Constance. “Here, don’t throttle the baby by proxy.”
    â€œSorry,” Gemma said sheepishly. She kissed Constance’s fuzzy head before handing her over. “It’s just that she’s infuriating. Cyn, I mean, not Constance.”
    â€œWell, I can understand Cyn feeling a little uncomfortable this weekend. She and your parents were the outsiders—”
    â€œUncomfortable?” Gemma shook her head. “You’re too diplomatic. That’s a nice way of saying she behaved like an absolute harpy.” Before Winnie could protest, she went on. “But it’s not just that. She’s been horrible since we found out Mum was ill.” Their mother, Vi, had been diagnosed with leukemia the previous spring. “I realize that’s Cyn’s way of dealing with her own worry. I can understand that, even though I want to strangle her. But now, with Charlotte, there’s no excuse.”
    â€œWhat about Charlotte?” Winnie asked, her kind face suddenly creased with concern.
    â€œI think Cyn told her kids not to play with her. Didn’t you notice?”
    â€œWell, I did think they seemed a little . . . awkward—”
    â€œHow could she? They’re going to be cousins, for heaven’s sake.” The anger in Gemma’s voice made Constance screw up her little face in a frown. Gemma took a calming breath, then reached out to stroke the baby’s cheek with a finger. “Sorry, lovey.” Constance had Winnie’s English-rose complexion, Jack’s bright blue eyes, and the downy beginnings of Jack’s blond hair.
    But Charlotte, with her caramel curls and light-brown skin, was every bit as beautiful, and a wave of fury swept over Gemma at the idea that anyone could think differently, or treat her differently, because of her