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things which would have made her life easier but not increased her income, she had never got round to it. She just lived in her Wellingtons. She clenched her teeth on her apology for the conditions underfoot.
    ‘Here’s my shed, where I do all my seed sowing, what pricking out that gets done, and where I keep my tender things in winter, things like scented geraniums. Very good for flavouring ice-cream,’ she added pointedly.
    He grunted, casting his disdainful gaze over the shed, which didn’t look very prepossessing, even to Perdita’s fond gaze. It had a potting bench, a high typing stool, so she could sit to work, and a radio, which she kept permanently tuned to Radio Four. There was a paraffin heater, which just about kept the chill off by day and the frost off by night, not much more. A tottering pile of grubby, mossy polystyrene seed trays occupied one corner. These she used in rotation, and while awaiting their turn, they dried in heaps. The roof was partly wooden and partly corrugated plastic, and there were puddles where they didn’t quite join. A fluorescent strip was the main illumination, but there was an ancient anglepoise over the potting bench.
    ‘I’m surprised they don’t want to make their cookery
programme in here,’ Lucas said.
    ‘I did think of offering it to them,’ Perdita replied with a completely straight face, ‘but I wouldn’t want them in a space I actually use. Come on, come and see the tunnels and meet the veg.’ His sideways glance told her he was wondering if she was mad, and, wanting to encourage his doubts about her sanity, she added, ‘They’re like my family. I talk to them all the time.’
    Lucas scrutinised her carefully to see if she was sending him up. Perdita looked blandly back at him, innocent and guileless. The fact was, although she didn’t actually regard her salads as close family members, she certainly chatted away to them, cajoling, chiding, and often, congratulating them—‘Who’s Mummy’s nice little earner, then?’
    She opened the door of the first tunnel, lifting it over the rut which had formed over the years.
    ‘Hello, darlings!’ she said gaily, having checked that William, who worked for her, wasn’t in the tunnel. She didn’t want him thinking that his boss had gone dotty. ‘Mummy’s brought you a visitor.’ She stole a glance at Lucas’s horrified expression. It filled her with glee. ‘Be on your best behaviour,’ she went on, nauseating herself as well as him.
    Then she forgot to be mad as Lucas helped himself to green morsels, and she gathered groups of leaves and rolled them into cigarettes of zing and flavour.
    ‘Here, try this.’ She handed him a leaf. ‘But be careful, it’s strong.’ She knew he would ignore her warning and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes water. ‘It goes well with golden purslane, which as you know, is divinely pretty, but a bit bland. This is practically my favourite.’ She handed him an attractive plant with rounded leaves wrapped about the stalk. ‘I’d almost grow it for its looks alone, but it has a nice flavour too, fresh and quite mild.’
    ‘I am familiar with claytonia,’ said Lucas. ‘Or has this particular member of the family got a Christian name?’
    Ignoring his sarcasm, Perdita looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s very important not to give the plants names, or you get too attached, and it breaks your heart when you have to let them go.’ She flirted with the notion of telling him she could hear the plants scream as she pulled them out of the earth, but decided he might think she was too much of a nutter to do business with. ‘Come along,’ she added briskly. ‘There are two more tunnels to see.’
    William was at the far end of the third tunnel. He straightened up as Lucas and Perdita entered.
    ‘Hello, Perdita,’ he called. ‘The mesembryanthemums have put on a spurt. Have you got any buyers for them?’
    ‘This is William, my – right-hand man,’ she said as