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would stay with them, the idea of being left alone with David conversely putting her all in a fluster. What on earth would she find to talk about? Fortunately, Lucy didn’t seem inclined to rush off as they approached the deer enclosure to see the fawn creatures with their slim cream muzzles.
    ‘Aah … they’re gorgeous!’ Letty sighed, one or two coming close enough for a dry black nose to be touched. She felt David’s hand under her elbow tighten a fraction, ready to pull her away from any danger. There was none from these gentle creatures, but it felt wonderful being watched over.
    ‘I wish we had bought something to feed to them,’ she said, taking care over her words.
    A doe nibbled her finger, plucking at the thin cotton of her glove, but losing interest began to move away.
    ‘Oh, it’s going!’
    Pulling off the glove, Letty pushed the tip through the wire mesh, wriggling it, tempting the animal back. It sniffed delicately at the fabric, touching the material with an exploratory tongue, gently took the tip of the glove between its protruding teeth, pulled a little.
    ‘Oh, it do feel funny!’ Letty giggled and heard David chuckle. She jiggled the glove, feeling the doe’s grip tighten, grow stronger. But as she made to pull away, her giggle became a squeak of alarm.
    ‘David! It’s got me glove. It won’t let go. Oh, ’elp!’
    Lucy too was emitting anxious little squeaks.
    David’s hand, warm and strong, covered Letty’s, pulled, but what had appeared a gentle creature proved to have hidden strength. The cotton ripped, leaving Letty with the wrist end, staring in dismay as the remainder dangled from the deer’s mouth, slowly disappearing behind the buck-teeth which masticated the morsel with relish. With a contented glaze in the animal’s eyes, its prize slipped down the slender throat in one visible swallow.
    Distressed, expecting to see the creature fall dead at any moment, Letty’s studied speech went completely. ‘Oh, crikey! What’ll we do? I’ll ’ave ter pay for it if it dies!’
    Lucy had started to giggle. Letty rounded on her. ‘Go on – have a good laugh! They was me best gloves. Dad bought ’em for me birthday. He won’t half be annoyed!’
    Lucy’s giggles subsided abruptly, deeming Letty’s attitude uncalled for. ‘He’s never annoyed with you, his little favourite.’
    Letty stared at her, gloves forgotten. ‘I’m not his favourite! He don’t think any more of me than he does of you and Vinny.’
    Lucy’s face tightened. ‘He’s always thought more of you than me and Vinny. Ever since he lost the boys, you’ve been his favourite.’
    Letty winced. Her younger brothers had died five years ago, Arthur from meningitis at the age of eight and Jimmie from appendicitis at the age of eleven, both within two months of each other. Dad had never really recovered from it.
    ‘I know why, of course,’ Lucy continued, not even realising what she’d said. ‘You purring over that old junk of his. He laps it up.’
    ‘I don’t purr. Me and Dad just like the same things.’
    ‘That old rubbish he calls art?’ Lucy gave a derisive titter. ‘None of it’s worth a light.’
    ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Letty snapped. ‘One day he’ll find something really good and make a lot of money and get a better shop and deal in real works of art, what he’s always wanted …’
    Lucy’s laugh was cynical. ‘What you’ve always wanted!’ Blood rushed to Letty’s cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed ter mean?’
    Jack had clutched at Lucy, his smooth blunt features creased with concern as he strove to pour oil on troubled waters.
    David, in his turn, took hold of Letty. ‘I’ll buy you new gloves,’ he said in a tone firm enough to calm her instantly. And as she did, attempting to disguise threatening tears by brushing down the front of her beige skirt with trembling hands, his tone moderated. ‘I shall take you out to buy them, Letitia.’
    ‘There’s no need,’ she said