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five minutes past two, and it was time for her to make her leisurely way to the railway station. Emerging from the teashop, she and Mr Canbrook walked the short distance to the entrance of his shop. There he glanced in through the glass door, seeing customers standing at the counters. ‘The lads and Miss Angel are busy,’ he said. ‘I mustn’t stay out.’
    Lydia thanked him for the tea, and he said what a pleasure it had been, and that he hoped he’d see her in Merinville again before too long. Lydia then took her leave of him.
    Walking fairly slowly, taking her time, and pausing now and then to look in at the shop windows, she had only gone about fifty yards when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw Mr Canbrook coming towards her at a rapid pace, one hand raised to hail her. She stood and waited for him to catch up.
    ‘Ah, I caught you, Miss Halley,’ he said. ‘Just in time.’ He had obviously come out in a hurry, Lydia observed; he had come without his hat.
    ‘I seem to be making a habit of this,’ he said, ‘running after you in the street, but I had some very quick second thoughts – and I wanted to say something to you.’
    Lydia nodded, waiting.
    ‘First of all,’ he said, ‘this is for you.’ He was holding a small, simply wrapped brown-paper package. ‘Just a little something. It’s a length of lace. Nottingham lace. Very pretty, and handmade. I thought perhaps you might be able to use it on a nightgown or a blouse or something.’
    Lydia took the package from him. ‘This is so terribly kind of you, Mr Canbrook,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ Carefully she laid it in her basket beside the lamp base.
    ‘Your pleasure is enough thanks,’ he said. He paused, as if searching for words. ‘There’s something I’m bound to ask you . . .’
    ‘Oh, what’s that?’
    ‘It’s just that . . .’ He swallowed, sighed. ‘Oh, this is very difficult for me, but – the thing is . . . Oh, listen – I wanted to ask you a question earlier, but I couldn’t get up the courage . . .’ He stumbled to a halt. Lydia kept silent. After the space of a couple of seconds he went on: ‘What I wanted to say, is . . . Oh, Miss Lydia – I hope you don’t mind me addressing you so . . . but – oh, I have to ask you: is there . . . is there some young man on your horizon? Some acquaintance of yours – some special acquaintance who is – well – someone who has a place in your heart? A special place. Oh, I know I’m a lot older than you, and for a girl like you who – well, I can’t imagine you’d see me as much of a catch. But do you have someone? If you do, tell me and I’ll never trouble you again. Do you?’
    ‘Mr Canbrook,’ Lydia said, ‘this is such a surprising thing to . . .’ Her words trailed to a halt. She stood with her basket in one hand and her other hand up to her cheek. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she ended lamely.
    ‘Just tell me – is there someone special in your life – someone who means something to you?’
    ‘Well, no, there is not,’ she said. ‘But on the other hand –’
    Quickly he broke in, ‘Oh, please don’t tell me you could never look at me.’ Then he fell silent, as if waiting for her to do just that. When she said nothing, he went on: ‘I want to ask – if you think it would be all right if I came to see you one day. We’ll start to get some nice days now. Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to say we might go out for a walk or something. What do you think?’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘I might be making a complete fool of myself.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway – I must let you get on your way. You must go and meet your sister.’ He started to turn, thenturned back. ‘Look – with your permission,’ he said, ‘I’ll write to you.’ With an awkward bobbing little motion of his balding head, he turned again and started back the way he had come.
    Lydia was in plenty of time to meet Ryllis, and had a few minutes to kill on