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day I would like to live there, you said so yourself.
    ‘Yes, when we were fifteen, and Tim Rowland-Knowles’s father let the school take our class round the house, as part of a history lesson, Libby!’
    ‘I remember—the teacher took our class photo in the gardenafterwards and I had a Princess Diana haircut while you were a New Romantic. I’m not sure which one of us looked worse.’ She shuddered at the memory, but since she looked very pretty in the photo (which I still have) it must have been the thought of
my
outfit that did it.
    ‘Even then, I didn’t think you meant you intended living in that
particular
house, Libs, just one like it.’
    ‘Yes, but that was because I never thought that it would come on the market. It was my ideal. And, if I recall,
you
once said you were going to be a gardener, marry Ben, have two children and live in the country—but just because you never did any of that, it doesn’t mean that I can’t fulfil
my
dream, does it? As soon as I got your email I contacted the estate agent and then got on the next plane.’
    ‘I
am
a gardener, Ben and I don’t need to get married to prove our love for each other, and Neatslake is
surrounded
by countryside,’ I said defensively. I didn’t mention the children, which, as she knows, just never came along…
    Libby, not the most sensitive of flowers, took a minute or two to evaluate what she’d just said, and then apologised. ‘Sorry, Josie. I take it Ben is still refusing to have any investigations done to see why there are no
bambini
? That man has a stubborn streak a mile wide!’
    I nodded guiltily, because I’m sure Ben would have been horrified to discover that I discussed our private affairs with anyone else. He’d always been a bit jealous of my close friendship with Libs and he tended to say things about her sometimes that made me think that, despite having several weird arty friends from the wrong side of the tracks himself, some of his parents’ snobbery must have rubbed off on him. That had certainly never stopped him accepting her invitations to holiday at her flat in Pisa, or to take us out to dinner at the flagship Cazzini restaurant near Piccadilly, the first one that Joe ever opened.
    ‘But it isn’t just stubbornness,’ I explained, ‘it’s because he’sseen how traumatic the whole IVF cycle thing has been for Mary and Russell, and he doesn’t want to put me through that. Anyway, we have each other. That’s enough.’
    ‘Yes, I can imagine him saying so,’ she commented drily, ‘just like when you moved down to London to live with him when he was doing his MA at the Royal College of Art, and he suddenly started saying neither of you need the outdated trappings of marriage to show your commitment.’
    ‘Yes, that was a bit odd, when we’d talked of marrying before. We did row about it, because Granny had old-fashioned ideas about things and it would have meant so much to her if we had got married, but he wouldn’t change his mind. But then, he does suddenly get ideas in his head and simply won’t change them, no matter what—he always has done. I don’t see why he won’t agree to a few simple tests, though. I mean, it would be good to at least know which of us has the problem, wouldn’t it?’
    ‘Sometimes there is no problem,’ Libby said. ‘It just doesn’t happen. But I agree you ought to explore all the avenues before you give up on the idea.’ She changed the subject. ‘What have you done to the kitchen? It seems to have a split personality. The left-hand wall has gone all high tech, chrome and utility. And isn’t that a second fridge and sink?’
    ‘I suppose it does look a bit strange,’ I agreed, seeing it suddenly with her eyes. Most of it was just as it always had been, with jars of wine bubbling round the old stove, herbs, lavender and strings of onions and dried apple rings hanging from the wooden rack over the kitchen table, bright gingham curtains and braided rug, and crocks and