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waterproof for the winter, as did some parts of the main house. According to Keith Greenhalgh, the home farm was in good order, but Hilda might be responsible for some of the patching up required by the farms occupied by paying tenants. ‘I won’t know where to start,’ she said as they made the easier journey down from the moor.
    ‘But Keith and I do,’ Jay said. ‘Once you’ve sorted out the money, we can go from there. You won’t need to do much.’
    Hilda disagreed. ‘I’m determined to learn,’ she said. ‘I’ve no intention of taking this lightly. I want to know about animals and ploughing and planting and—’
    Jay laughed. ‘Hang on, Miss Pickavance, or you’ll have us all out of work before this war kicks off.’
    They heard a few sirens as they made their way back to Liverpool. All these practices might well mean that no one would react when real bombardment threatened, because it was a bit like the boy who cried wolf.
    The three women had enjoyed a taste of fresh, clean air, and they began to notice how much dirtier town life was. They were sleepy, too, just as they often were after a rare day in Southport. Clean air made a person lively, and liveliness made a person tired. It was probably the way humanity was meant to be, living in freshness, and sleeping well at night.
    This time, Jay drove down the dock road, because he had never seen it before. Even so late in the day, men were working hard to unload cargo and bring in for storage as much as they could, especially where foodstuffs were concerned. Sea routes would be threatened for both Royal and merchant navies. Men’s lives could not be risked for the sake of a few bananas and pineapples – even molasses would be scarce, so every effort to stock up was being made. ‘You can’t stop here, Miss Pickavance,’ Jay said. ‘This lot will be a prime target, so you have to move inland. I mean, the Germans would be daft if they didn’t go for these docks.’
    ‘I know.’ She sighed. She was an heiress. Very suddenly, she had become a person of standing. And she didn’t know how to feel about that. Until now, Hilda had owned nothing beyond household goods and clothing. Money left after the deaths of her parents was salted away against her old age. ‘How many farms are there?’ she asked.
    ‘Only four, not counting the home farm.’
    Only four. Four roofs, four families, four lots of rainwater goods, walls, doors, windows. ‘Tell Keith I want to know everything about the condition of those farmhouses. I’ll need written reports, and I do hope I’m not being a nuisance, Jay. So much to learn, you see.’
    What Jay saw was a good woman who took duty seriously, probably too seriously. He grinned. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Miss Pickavance.’ How far removed she was from the expectations of Neil Dyson. Keith had told Jay about the ‘all lipstick and shoes’ description delivered by the home farm manager. There was little of the Chanel No. 5 about Hilda Pickavance, but there was a fine business head just waiting to become informed. Yes, she would make a good fist of it. If she failed at anything, it wouldn’t be for want of trying.
    ‘And if you would kindly ask the people in Willows Edge whether they have been approached by the authorities with regard to evacuation, I’d be grateful. At the farms, too, please. As you have seen for yourself, the children in this area are perilously near to a busy dock system.’
    ‘Certainly.’ He dropped them off, smiling as he watched them distributing fruit and vegetables from the boot of the car. It was a long way home, but for Miss Pickavance the journey would be much, much further. She was, in his opinion, an excellent and genteel woman. Qualities such as hers were much needed in times such as these. Adolf had better hang on to his hat. With people like this about, Britain would not roll over easily.
    Mel came downstairs to meet Gran. ‘Where’s Mam?’ she asked.
    ‘With Miss Pickavance. She’s