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tip-top?’
    ‘Perfect, thank you.’
    ‘Good, good. If there’s ever a problem I’m sure Hetty, that’s Mrs Gorran, will sort it out for you.’ She was busily patting pockets, poking the front of her jersey, peering about her in a bemused sort of way.
    ‘Are these what you’re looking for?’ Reaching up, Chrissie unhooked a pair of spectacles from the ribbon of the tattered straw hat.
    ‘So that’s where I put them. Goodness, how dreadful. Please don’t tell Hetty. I have no wish to appear more senile than I actually am.’
    Chrissie laughed. ‘I don’t believe you’re senile at all.’
    ‘My dear, I am older than the century itself.’
    ‘And a Lakelander born and bred, no doubt,’ Chrissie teased, taking the chance some nugget might fall her way at this very first meeting.
    ‘Oh, I do so wish I was. How marvellous that would be, to have been born in this lovely county.’
    Chrissie smiled. ‘I’m trying to identify your accent. It’s unusual. Where do you come from, then, if not Westmorland?’ She attempted to make the question sound casual, but somehow it fell rather flat.
    Georgia Cowper half turned away, bending to retrieve her trowel before moving on to the next bush where she began to dig up a few weeds from around the stock. ‘Do smell these roses, aren’t they divine? I love the old-fashioned sort best, don’t you?’
    The failure to get a response to her impertinence was not entirely unexpected but Chrissie felt disappointed all the same. Mum was right, then, it was not going to be easy to draw any information out of her. Leaning close, shedrank in the sweet heady scent of the bloom. ‘Wonderful! Who maintains this amazing garden for you? Just look at all these rhododendrons and azaleas. You must need a whole tribe of gardeners to keep it looking so perfect.’
    The older woman put back her head and laughed out loud. Her face was as brown as a nut, but with scarcely a wrinkle, Chrissie noticed. A face full of wisdom and strength, and a rare loveliness. She caught a glimpse of once-black hair, silvered with grey. ‘Well, there’s Sam, Hetty’s husband, who does a marvellous job. He also drives the old Rover, should I feel the need for an outing, but he’s getting on a bit. Not quite so doddery as me, but well on the way. This is not a house of young folk, which is why we enjoy our guests.’ Dropping the secateurs into a trug standing nearby, she said, ‘The garden is my pride and joy. Let me show you.’
    It was indeed enchanting, Chrissie genuinely admiring every plant and shrub as she was taken from rose to kitchen garden along winding paths, through secret glades and the shrubbery, finishing in the walled garden inspecting the tomatoes in the huge Edwardian greenhouses.
    As she paused by these, she asked, ‘What about your own family, presumably they visit too?’ Chrissie regretted the question almost the moment she’d uttered it. Far too soon. And clumsy.
    Her grandmother gave what might pass for a smile. ‘Those who wish to come when it suits them. Isn’t that always the way with families?’
    Chrissie was startled. Whatever answer she’d expected, it wasn’t this. She instantly wanted to ask who thesefamily members were exactly that visited. She’d always assumed her mother to be an only child as no aunts or uncles had ever come on a visit. But then they’d lived a strangely nomadic life, constantly moving, no doubt to escape debtors. Should she own up now to who she really was, and risk upsetting her mother?
    But Georgia was speaking again, in firm no-nonsense tones. ‘I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. I dare say that like all young women of your age you forget to eat properly. No, don’t bother to deny it,’ she went on, giving a soft chuckle. ‘Mrs Gorran always produces excellent meals, and she’ll never forgive you if you don’t eat them. You shall sit with me at dinner tonight and while I make sure you eat properly you shall tell me all about