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it.’
    Later, Perdita had found herself in a position to buy the tiny cottage at the end of the lane which had once housed the gamekeeper of Grantly House, as well as enough land for two more tunnels.
    There were a few spectacular arguments about money; Kitty wanted to finance the whole thing. She disapproved of mortgages, having never needed one herself, and felt that Perdita should let her buy the cottage and the land, the argument being that Perdita was going to inherit all Kitty’s money anyway.
    With a stubbornness which had surprised them both, Perdita refused. She arranged a mortgage and a bank loan. ‘So I’ll have more to inherit,’ she told Kitty.
     
    It was at college that she had learnt about markets. She realised that she could never make enough to keep herself
by growing carrots and potatoes. She needed to grow specialist vegetables for specialist cooks. She went to the nearby health farm and persuaded Ronnie’s predecessor that he needed to provide vegetables fresh out of the ground, and if he would only tell her what he wanted, she would grow it and deliver it.
    She did the same with Enzo at Grantly House. His requirements had been more esoteric and included specialist herbs, flat-leaved parsley, chervil, coriander, every sort of basil and tarragon, thyme, parsley, dill. He wanted baby leeks the size of her little finger, vegetables too young to die, sprouted fenugreek, alfalfa, and sweet seasoning peppers grown from seed sent from the Caribbean. Her business had flourished.
    Now, five years on, certain that all wounds and scars from her marriage were healed, Perdita’s first concern was Janey. Lucas was obviously the sort of chef who thought humiliating one’s staff was the way to get the best out of them. Even without her own, personal knowledge of just how cruel Lucas could be, Perdita would have been worried about Janey, especially when a couple of telephone conversations with her made it clear that she was developing a crush on Lucas. It was easily done when you were Janey’s age, as Perdita knew only too well. Janey must be rescued. Perdita liked rescuing things, and if it thoroughly annoyed Lucas in the process, well, all the better.
    With these happy thoughts in mind, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry when, the next day, she received a faxed order from Grantly House that was even bigger than the last one. She had no way of knowing how Lucas felt about her personally, but he was a big fan of what she produced.
     
    When she delivered it a couple of days later she dutifully removed her gumboots and padded into the kitchen in her woolly socks.
    ‘Hi, everyone! How’s things?’ she carolled gaily, in an attempt to sound as she had before Enzo’s departure. ‘Oh, he’s not here,’ she went on, more naturally. ‘What a relief.’
    Greg was scrubbing the bars of the oven, giving Perdita the impression that he’d done nothing but clean it ever since she was last here. Janey was making potato balls with raw potatoes and a melon baller, a process which looked both extremely tedious and painful to the palm of the hand.
    ‘Pommes Parisienne,’ she explained gloomily. ‘Bloody agony.’
    ‘How can you fancy a man who makes you do such poncy things to potatoes?’ Perdita murmured to Janey, so Greg wouldn’t hear.
    Janey blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t help it.’
    ‘So where’s your lord and master?’ asked Perdita, at normal volume.
    ‘He’s having a conference with Mr Grantly,’ said Janey, throwing down her baller in a gesture of rebellion. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea!’
    ‘Oh, let’s. I’ll get the stuff.’ She went to the door and put her boots back on. Such a relief not to have to take them off when she returned.
     
    ‘Is it hell? Is he a bastard?’ Perdita, having unloaded six crates of salad and put them in the cold store, helped herself to a biscuit, and heaved herself onto the counter.
    ‘Don’t sit there!’ Janey