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of his beloved garden would have to be removed by the mechanical digger, to make way for the conservatory. He hadn’t realised it was going to be so big.
    “Mr Smith assures me,” said Aurora, “that his company has years of experience in the safe removal of mature trees. Now, won’t that be nice for you? You won’t have to worry about the gardening any more. It’s ruining your posture, if you must know.”
    “But, my greenhouse, Aurora! My little greenhouse! Surely it can stay? It’s full of rare specimens – I’ve all kinds of grafting experiments going on in there –”
    “Oh, Henry! You’re too much! You can’t honestly expect me to read aloud to the society with that decrepit eyesore spoiling the view. Ha, ha! The thought of it!”
    “So that’s it? It’s not even up for discussion? You’re just going to throw my prize plants away?”
    “A few old bits of half-dead twigs? What do you think? I’m doing you a favour, my darling. And by the way, I thought you might like to grow a moustache; it would look so in-period when you’re serving the refreshments.”
    There was nothing Henry could say to that little speech, without using the kind of language that would make Aurora faint.
    Remembering that moment, Henry shook his head. He couldn’t concentrate on his newspaper. Maybe he was a chauvinist, like Aurora said. Maybe it offended him to see his wife make important decisions involving large sums of money.
    He looked up as Penny brought him his breakfast. She was carrying the hot plate carefully, with a clean tea towel. It made him feel guilty, to be waited on by this gentle woman. They’d become good friends in recent months. Penny knew all about The Brontë Bunch, and how much Henry resented it.
    “Will there be anything else, Henry?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “This looks absolutely delicious,” he said, to show his appreciation. The cafe itself has seen better days, he thought, but the food is second-to-none. It was worth the long walk from the Malone Road. “It’s Aurora,” he said, as Penny turned to leave. “Another mad scheme. A very expensive scheme, this time. A conservatory, to be precise. Huge bloody thing. The whole garden will have to be bulldozed. But she won’t listen to me. Oh, no!”
    “You’re a sweet man. You dote on that woman. I’m very jealous, you know.” Penny did not tell Henry what she’d read in a magazine: that buying a conservatory was a sign that a couple needed more space. That perhaps their home was becoming claustrophobic. Daniel maintained that magazine editors made half of the stuff up as they went along. Penny agreed with him, this time. After all, what could possibly be wrong with a lovely conservatory? Penny would love one, herself.
    Henry was pleased. Penny’s comment made him feel like a romantic fool, a rich husband indulging his pretty wife. That was the line he would take. He would pretend he had changed his mind, and he would tell Aurora to go ahead, and buy the best model on the market. No matter what the cost. Then, when faced with actually writing the cheque, she would hesitate, and worry about spending her life savings. She would announce that the whole project was cancelled and Henry would be gracious and not say ‘I told you so’. And she would adore him again.
    He would make it up with Aurora, he decided, and they would laugh at her silly scheme to build a conservatory. Yes, he thought. By this time tomorrow, she would have abandoned the idea. It was an outrageous extravagance, to spend so much money on what was, after all, a hobby. Uncle Bertie’s monkey-puzzle, and all the other trees, ripped out on a whim? Surely she wouldn’t be able to go through with it?
    Feeling much better, he shook salt and pepper onto his breakfast, and began to eat.

Chapter 5

    T HE S ECRET L IFE OF S ADIE S MITH
    Unknown to Henry Blackstaff, the long-suffering wife of that greasy conservatory salesman, Arnold Smith, had just come into the shop. Her