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feather duster.
    “Where would we go at such short notice?”
    “Well, Yorkshire do spring to mind, seeing as Melody lives there. But I’m not just looking out for meself. Think on thatgood bracing air you get in the dales and up on the moors!” In a moment she would start humming a casual tune.
    “Mrs. Malloy,” I said gently but firmly, “I told you this afternoon that Ben and I have things we want to get done around the house while the children are gone.”
    “You’d only be away a couple of days. And like I told you, where Melody lives isn’t far from Haworth. You could go and see the parsonage where the Brontes lived.”
    “I’ve been there. Seventeen times. I used to make a semiannual pilgrimage before I married Ben.”
    “Well, maybe he’d like to see it.”
    “Perhaps.” I was wavering, and Mrs. Malloy was every bit as good as Tobias at moving in for the kill.
    “I just hate the thought of facing Melody on me own. She can be very intimidating in her way. Tossing out facts: what was said, where it was, and, as if that’s not enough, the date and the hour when it happened.”
    “What does she look like?” It was impossible not to be curious.
    “A moth-eaten stuffed rabbit.”
    “No resemblance then to yourself?”
    Mrs. Malloy was looking understandably outraged by this tactless suggestion when Ben came back into the room with the tea tray, which he placed on the Queen Anne table between the sofas. Nicely within reach of Mrs. M and myself, should we feel inclined to reach for a second slice of his delectable chocolate raspberry cake. Scratch that thought. How many digestive biscuits had I eaten that afternoon? Never mind. I could already feel the pounds creeping on. Exercise was needed if I didn’t want to wake up in the morning to face a blimp in the mirror. Getting to my feet, I handed Mrs. Malloy the cup of tea Ben poured for her. The brush of his shoulder against mine sent a thrill coursing through me.
    Was it possible we would have our romantic rendezvous in the bedroom after all? It was that time of day when dark stubble shadowed his face, adding a hint of mystery to familiarity. The smile he gave me, as he handed me my cup, made my heart beat faster. Perhaps he was only thinking that it felt good to have our squabble behind us, while I was seeing myself slipping into the sea-foam green nightdress before unpinning my hair so that it fell in a languorous silken swirl down my back. There was that bottle of expensively seductive perfume on the dressing table that I reserved for the worthy occasion, there were the candles that glowed amber when lighted . . . and now there was Mrs. Malloy’s voice breaking into my highly personal dream.
    “No one makes a cup of tea like you do, Mr. H!”
    His smile became a roguish grin. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Malloy.”
    “It’s all in the way he drops the teabags in the pot.” I eyed him impishly.
    “Flattery!” He picked up his own cup and saucer. “I suppose you two still think I’m in desperate need of cheering up.”
    I sat back down, avoiding eye contact with the cake sitting so prettily on its paper doily. “What Mrs. Malloy thinks you and I need is a few days’ holiday in Yorkshire while the children are gone.”
    “Why Yorkshire?”
    “I’ve got a sister there,” supplied the voice from the chair opposite mine.
    “That we could take her to see,” I explained to Ben, “in between all the wonderful exploring you and I could do.”
    The expression on his face wasn’t promising. “I’d no idea you had a sister, Mrs. Malloy.”
    “We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in close on forty years.”
    “Isn’t that sad?” I leaned forward. “Don’t you think, darling, that it’s important for Mrs. Malloy to take the initiative and try to put things right by going to see Melody?”
    “Melody?” he echoed, looking as nonplussed as I had felt on first hearing the name. “Does she sing or play any musical instruments?”
    An