Joanna had to laugh. ‘Yes, she has, but I can’t think why?’

  ‘I say I have never found a girl to match up with me. And I didn’t say match up to me, I said match up with me. And my brother Bill says it’s because I take so long to make up my mind about anything that by the time I asked a girl to marry me, she’d be already happily married to somebody else and like as not expecting her third child.’

  ‘So you have a housekeeper?’

  ‘I’ve got a young pig-man; his wife comes in and cleans for me.’

  ‘Did the farm belong to your father?’

  ‘Yes, and my grandfather before him. William was the eldest, and by rights the farm should have come to him, but he was never cut out for farming. He was the artistic type, always had his nose in a book. So when he left school he went south and joined my uncle in Anderson’s Trading in London. It’s funny, two brothers like Bill and me. So different, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get on well. Never saw much of each other after he went down to London, but when we did, it was as though we’d never been apart.’

  ‘It’s good when you feel like that about someone. I think he’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever known – coming to see me in hospital, and arranging for me to come away and stay with the Duffys … nobody else would have been so concerned.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Bob, ‘the fact that you have no parents makes him feel more than usually responsible.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to think that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I want to feel that I’m standing on my own feet.’

  Bob smiled. He said, ‘And where were you brought up?’

  ‘In Dorset. Hardy country. My father was a solicitor. We had a country house in the middle of a town – it had high walls all around and the garden always seemed to me the safest and most secret place in the world.’

  ‘Is your sister older than you?’

  Joanna frowned. ‘How do you know about my sister and my parents?’

  Bob went a bit red in the face. ‘I had a wee chat with Minnie … I wasn’t just curious, I was interested.’

  Joanna forgave him and said, ‘She’s older than me.’ She remembered the smell of freesias in hospital, and somehow it was like a million happy memories suddenly coming flooding back. She began to talk, telling Bob about the greenhouse and the vine; and the summer tennis-parties with school-friends. And Christmases with charades and candlelight and going on holidays to North Wales, all of them packed into her father’s modest car. She said, ‘We used to camp, in tents, and one year we hired a caravan but somehow it was never so much fun as sleeping in a tent.’

  ‘What happened to your home?’

  ‘We sold it when my mother died.’

  ‘Do you ever go back?’

  ‘No.’ She thought about it. ‘Nor talk about it.’ She looked at him. ‘This is the first time I’ve talked about it. I’ve never wanted to before.’

  ‘It’s your family makes a home,’ said Bob. ‘They make it a special place.’

  * * *

  She realised in some astonishment that it was growing dark. The midges were starting to bite, and Bob slapped one off his hand and suggested that perhaps it was time to take Joanna home. He said that he would drive her in the Land Rover, but it was still so warm that she elected to walk, and he walked with her, across the fields and beneath the bloomy shadows of the old pear trees. In the distance could be seen a light in the window of Mrs Duffy’s house, and very yellow and cosy it looked, welcoming Joanna home.

  Home. That word seemed to be ringing through this strange evening, like the persistent tolling of a bell. ‘It’s your family makes a home,’ Bob had said, meaning loved ones, familiar faces, security. Why then, in the middle of this unknown country, did she suddenly feel, for the first time in years, that she really belonged? Not to the flat in London, which was merely a place to return to after a day’s work. Not to Aunt Cassie’s house, which she visited at weekends. But here. Now. This was the place.

  She had stopped walking. She stood still and looked up through the leafy boughs of trees, to the infinite, misty arc of the evening sky. She saw the new moon, fine as an eyelash, rising up over the ragged silhouette of the hawthorn hedge, and heard, from the river, the gentle cackle and chatter of nesting birds. A few paces ahead Bob stopped and waited for her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked at last.

  She did not reply. After a little he came back to her side, his shirt pale in the faint light, his sunburned arms and face merging strangely into the dusk. He ducked his head beneath a drooping branch and she watched him, and realised in an earth-shattering instant that the security, the feeling of belonging, emanated not from the little lighted window but from him. She thought, Dear heaven, I can’t have fallen in love with him …

  He said her name, but she didn’t reply because she couldn’t say anything. He reached her side, and took her shoulders between his big hands, and pulled her towards him, and now there was nothing to be said by either of them, because he was kissing her as though he couldn’t bear to let her go.

  * * *

  They met again at noon the following day. Bob had his ‘piece with him’, which meant that he had brought a sandwich and a Thermos of tea out into the fields, and Mrs Duffy had made Joanna a picnic. They had arranged to meet by the river, and she was waiting for him down on the shore when she heard his voice, his whistle, the bark of the dog, and she looked back, and there he was coming through the gate, and this time there was no hesitation. She ran to meet him and he picked her up and swung her around and set her down and said, ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’

  ‘Changed your mind about what?’

  ‘About you, about me, about last night?’

  She said, ‘I love you,’ and that seemed to answer all his questions.

  They made their way back to the water’s edge, or at least what would have been the water’s edge if the tide hadn’t happened to be out. There was a great flurry of wings and six or seven shelduck rose from the marsh and flew out into the safety of the mud flats.

  ‘Mrs Duffy sent you a piece of pie,’ Joanna began, ‘because …’

  But Bob interrupted her. He said, ‘I got a letter this morning.’

  Something in his voice caught her attention. ‘A letter?’

  ‘From Bill. He wrote it yesterday. Sent it first class mail. At first I wondered whether I should tell you or not. But now, the way things have worked out, there doesn’t seem to be any reason why you shouldn’t read it.’

  Joanna’s heart went cold. ‘Is it something dreadful?’

  Bob laughed. ‘Not dreadful. Funny, really, I suppose you’d call it.’

  ‘Have you got the letter?’

  In answer he reached into some back pocket and produced a long envelope, rather crumpled. She recognised the Anderson trademark embossed on the back. She opened the envelope and took out the letter, and saw the familiar letter-head, and Mr William’s writing saying ‘My dear Bob’.

  ‘You promise me it isn’t anything dreadful?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Joanna read on.

  By now you will have made the acquaintance of my friend Joanna, and I wish I could be at Whitebarns to witness your reactions to each other, but perhaps, as things are, it is better that I remain well out of the way.

  You have so much in common. She is lonely and I think you are, too. She is shy, which is one of your failings. She also has a stubborn pride which is well-matched by your own. But these are on the negative side of the coin, and on the positive side are countless good things.

  You haven’t much time. For the first time in your life you may be faced with a hasty decision, the need to make up your mind what it is you want and go out and grab it. I have a feeling that you will, too, because my instincts for matching up, not only things, but people, tell me that you and Joanna are made for each other.

  Good luck, and my love to you both,

  Bill

  She read the letter twice. She folded it and put it back in the envelope. Last night had seemed like a miracle, but it wasn’t a miracle, it was something which had been coolly and thoughtfully contrived by Mr William, with his customary passion for perfection, and his infinite capacity for taking pains. As though they were two precious objects, made to complement each other, he had brought Joanna and Bob together, and they had fallen for his neat manipulation.

  But had they? He had been right about Bob and Joanna, but he could have been wrong for no human being, no will-power could have fired that sudden passion, that instant recognition of each other as they stood beneath the trees of the dusky orchard and watched the new moon rise.

  She said, ‘He meant it to happen!’

  ‘I know.’ Bob was obviously more amused than annoyed. ‘We’ve been manipulated. Do you object, my darling girl, to being manipulated?’

  Part of her did, but it was so small a part as scarcely counted. And she had discovered that if you were safe and happy and loved, it became easy to laugh at yourself. Bob took her into the bear-hug of his arms and kissed her laughing, open mouth, and later on he said, ‘When I see that brother of mine again, I shall either thank him or hit him,’ but by then it was obvious that matters were totally out of Mr William’s hands, and whatever Bob chose to do could not count for a farthing, one way or the other.

  Ghosts of the Past

  Josephine Hanbury tilted her head back and forth, trying to get the flight information monitor in the airport arrivals hall into focus through her bi-focal spectacles. The plane was running fifteen minutes late. Probably a blessing that it was no more than that considering the Arctic weather conditions that had shrouded the entire country for the past week. She glanced around the area to see if there was a telephone booth near at hand, thinking that it might be best to call Douglas to say that the plane was going to be slightly delayed. Her husband had always been a stickler for punctuality, and would no doubt grumpily surmise that they were stuck in a snowdrift somewhere on the way back to the house if they were even a couple of minutes late.

  A resigned smile crossed her face. Maybe on this occasion, his mind might be a little more preoccupied. He had only grunted her a farewell that morning as he sat watching the cricket on the kitchen television. It was being beamed, live from Australia, by way of that wretched satellite dish which now adorned the otherwise beautiful, wisteria-covered frontage of their house.

  Through the milling crowd of passengers, she noticed a free telephone situated near to the Costa Coffee stall. She began to move towards it, taking one last fleeting look at the monitor to make sure that she was checking the correct flight, and immediately walked straight into an immoveable object. She reeled backwards, causing her spectacles to spin from her face and land with a clatter on the concrete floor.

  She felt a steadying hand immediately grasp at her arm. ‘I’m most terribly sorry,’ a man’s voice exclaimed. She did not look at him, but groggily fixed her blurred vision on the countless feet that passed within inches of her spectacles, feeling her face throb where she had come into contact with him.

  ‘My spectacles,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get them.’

  The man bent stiffly forward to pick them up, leaning a hand on his knee to give himself support. He was dressed in a startlingly yellow duffel coat, the hood of which partially covered an unruly mass of white hair.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, holding out her spectacles to her. ‘Might need a bit of straightening out, but I don’t think there’s any lasting damage done to them. I am sorry about that.’

  Josephine smiled up at him. ‘Please don’t think that it was your fault. I just wasn’t looking where I was going.’ She made to take the spectacles from him, but for some reason he seemed reluctant to relinquish his grip on them.

  ‘Good God!’ he said quietly. ‘Josephine?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It is Josephine Hanbury, isn’t it?’

  There was something about the tone of his voice that she recognised. ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ she said, letting out a nervous laugh. ‘Could I have my spectacles, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, immediately letting go of them.

  She placed her spectacles back on her nose. Although one of the legs was so badly bent that she could only see through one of the lenses, it was enough to bring everything into focus. The long, angular face was all too familiar. She looked away, hoping that he might think that he had just made an embarrassing mistake.

  ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ he asked again.

  Josephine let out a sigh and smiled at the man, brushing away a wisp of grey hair that had been caught up on the useless leg of the spectacles. ‘Yes, Humphrey. It is me.’

  The man nodded slowly. ‘I knew it was. You haven’t changed at all.’

  ‘In thirty years? You must be joking.’

  ‘Well, I recognised you immediately.’ He paused, smiling uneasily at her, and she realised by the flush that had risen to the cheeks of his craggy face that he too was embarrassed by their unscheduled meeting. ‘So, what brings you here?’

  ‘I’m meeting my daughter off the Heathrow plane.’

  ‘That would be Helena, wouldn’t it?’

  Josephine swallowed hard. ‘Yes. Well remembered. She comes up every month or so, just to make sure that we’re both still live and kicking.’

  ‘I see.’ The man cast a glance around the arrivals hall. ‘So how is Douglas?’ Josephine detected a definite edge in the way that he asked the question.

  ‘He’s well. Still as …’

  ‘Difficult as ever?’ he interjected.

  She looked directly at him. ‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ He let out a deep breath and pushed his hands into the pockets of his duffel coat. ‘Listen, do you want a cup of coffee or something? There’s a Costa stall over there.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Josephine replied, almost too quickly. ‘I mean, I don’t think there’s time. The plane will be landing soon.’

  ‘Not for another five minutes, at least. I’m meeting my son off the same plane.’

  Jack. That was the name of his son, but she wasn’t going to admit to the knowledge.

  ‘Touching base as well, is he?’

  The man nodded. ‘Exactly. He’s been seconded to a company in Boston for two years, so he’s coming up to say farewell to his old man.’

  ‘That’s a nice thought. Has he a family?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid that he’s married to his job, like so many of that generation nowadays. What about Helena?’

  ‘Yes. She has two children.’

  ‘Like yourself.’

  ‘Yes, like myself.’ This was all getting far too uncomfortable. She forced a friendly smile on to her face. ‘Listen, Humphrey, I must go to the loo before the plane comes in. It really has been good to see you again.’ She turned to go but he shot out a hand and grasped her elbow.

  ‘Why did you never get in touch with me again, Josephine?’

  She stared down at the hand. ‘Please, Humphrey. I don’t think that it would do any good dragging everything up again.’

  ‘Well, you might not, but I would just like to know the answer. My understanding of the whole situation was that you were quite prepared to leave Douglas and come away with me. Is that not correct?’

  ‘Humphrey, I …’

  ‘Then suddenly I heard no more from you, and try as I might, I couldn’t get in touch with you.’

  Josephine sighed. ‘That was because we’d said all that had needed to be said. It wasn’t just “us” that had to be considered. We both had young children.’

  ‘They would have survived.’

  ‘And I was not prepared to risk that,’ Josephine replied quickly, at the same time wrestling her arm free of his tightening grasp. ‘Listen, Humphrey, I’m sorry that you obviously still feel so much hurt. I really am. But I can’t say any more than that.’ She noticed that there was movement at the arrivals gate, and glancing up at the monitor, saw with relief that the plane had landed earlier than expected. ‘I have to go now. Goodbye.’

  She turned and walked across the concourse floor to where the passengers from Heathrow would soon be arriving, desperately willing her daughter to be as speedy as she possibly could. When she did eventually appear ten minutes later, Josephine could feel her nerves still jangling from the encounter. Helena put her arms around her mother’s neck and gave her a long hug. ‘Hullo, Mum. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, my angel.’

  ‘And Dad?’

  Josephine pushed her gently away. ‘As crotchety as ever, especially with this wretched weather. Let’s just hope that England are winning the cricket, otherwise we’ll both really be in for doom and gloom.’ She surveyed her daughter’s face. ‘My word, darling, you look worn out. Come on, let’s collect your case and get straight home.’ She took hold of Helena’s hand and started towards the already-moving carousel. Helena, however, held her back.

  ‘I don’t have a case, Mum.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Travelling light this time, are you? Well, I suppose if you run out of clothes, there’s bound to be some old ones still in your bedroom cupboard.’

  Helena let out a sigh. ‘Mum, can we go and have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘What, now? Darling, if you wouldn’t mind, I think that it would be better if we got home. The roads are …’

  ‘Mum, I’m not coming home this time.’

  Josephine frowned at her daughter. ‘What do you mean you’re not coming home? I don’t understand. Are you going to be staying with someone else? If that’s the case, why did you ask me to meet you?’ She shook her head. ‘Darling, I may be your mother, but I don’t think that you should treat me as if I’m some sort of glorified taxi service. Do you know how long it took … ?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not staying with anyone else, either. I’m actually catching the next plane back to London.’

  ‘Catching the next plane? For what reason?’ The puzzled frown on Josephine’s face slid into a hardened stare of realisation. ‘There’s something wrong, Helena, isn’t there? What’s happened?’