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rest of her life in Malta. Uncle Richard or one of her capable cousins would have it sub-let in days. She yanked her thoughts away from Sliema, made an effort not to be ungracious. 'Sorry to put you out like this, Moll. I'm disrupting your life, aren't I?'
    'Oh well,' shrugged Molly. But her curranty black eyes sharpened. 'Of course, it was a bombshell, I'll be honest with you. A phone call yesterday - then today, you're here, bag and baggage.'
    She waited, her eyebrows raised. At Judith's silence, she reached behind herself and pushed the door closed. To signify that Judith could speak in confidence? Or that neither of them would be leaving the room until a measure of guts had been spilled?
    With a sigh, Judith sank down on the bed.
    Molly folded her arms and her face settled into lines that could almost have said I could've told you something like this was going to happen . 'Is it that man you've been mixed up with? Gino?'
    'Giorgio.'
    ' Jaw-joe , then. Has it all ended?'
    Judith tried to sound as if she'd considered, was summarising a prolonged deliberation rather than a snap decision to flee. Some degree of explanation was due to her sister, she supposed, for leaving her life, her job, the place that had been home for the past three years, to dump herself in Molly's home. 'There doesn't seem much future for us.'
    Molly sighed - exasperation rather than sympathy. 'All that business with his family, I suppose? Or did he find someone more his own age? I know you've never quite lost that angular, schoolgirl look that means you don't look your years, but a gap always seems more when it's the woman who's the oldest, doesn't it?'
    She winced. 'Neither of those things.'
    'Well, don't blame yourself - '
    'But I think I am to blame. Look, Moll darling.' Judith scrambled to her feet and slid a sisterly arm around the other woman. 'I feel as if I'm putting you out enormously, why don't I book into a B&B for now, then perhaps rent somewhere for a few weeks until I can get my tenant out? I'll see him tomorrow and give him notice.' She squeezed the cushiony shoulders. 'I shouldn't have just dropped myself on you like this, you have your own life to get on with. I'm a disgrace, aren't I?' she joked.
    Molly didn't seem to get jokes. 'You're welcome here! I'll let you settle in.' She swung out of the room, leaving Judith to flop back down onto the bed. Welcome? She automatically translated the word into Maltese. Merhba . Hmm. She shouldn't have presumed upon her sister's hospitality. But, with their mother ensconced in a care home now, an automatic return-to-family reflex had sent her to Molly.
    At least, now she was 'home', she'd be able to see more of Mum, pay surprise visits to The Cottage retirement home. 'Hello! I've called to see Wilma Morgan, I'm her daughter.' Sit with her. Take her out. Talk. Try not to swear and make her mother tut. 'Really, Judith, do we have to have that language all the time?'
    And Judith not being able to resist, 'Bloody right!' Or worse.
    Making Wilma laugh in return. 'Don't you think you're a little old to still be playing the rebellious child?'
    She closed tired eyes. Immediately his face swam into focus. Giorgio. Her heart swelled and shrank sickeningly. Giorgio. She forced her eyes to open wide, wide, very wide. Oh, Giorgio...
     
    After half-an-hour of unproductive staring at the ceiling, she rolled off Molly's spare bed. Better unpack sufficient clothes for a few days, she supposed, cardigans and fleeces included. Northamptonshire's summer was a different prospect to Malta's. Here the clouds were a pale grey blanket, no high blue sky, no heat clinging on the breeze or seeping up from the rock. Here she'd often need long sleeves, jeans and socks.
    She threw open a case and yanked out a handful of underwear, stretchy, lacy, pretty. She opened one of the small drawers at the top of the oak chest set beside the window. Halted. The drawer was already full of underwear in neat piles, plain, white or beige,