Mistress Of Manningtor

by Connie Monk

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Since the death of her parents when she was three years old, Anna Bartlett has lived with her grandfather and his housekeeper at Dunsford House. Growing up in the remote countryside of the Berkshire Downs, Anna leads a sheltered life and has few friends her own age. So when she meets the dashing Theo Sullivan, she naturally falls for his charming ways. Shy and naive, Anna falls hopelessly in love with Theo. Her dreams of a happy future together are shattered however when she falls pregnant, and Theo's reluctant marriage proposal reveals how little he cares for her. Anna has no choice but to accept, and suddenly finds herself mistress of Manningtor, the Sullivan's enormous estate in Devon. Determined to make the best of her unfamiliar and intimidating surroundings, and to get on with Theo's extended family, Anna throws herself into her duties as a new wife. When tragedy strikes, however, her already unstable relationship with Theo is thrown into more confusion. Trapped in a loveless marriage and surrounded by members of Theo's haughty and disapproving family, Anna must face up to a an uncertain future, with the threat of war also drawing ever closer . . .

Release date: January 14, 2016

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

1938

Theo Sullivan was enjoying himself. Not that there was anything unusual in that, for he accepted any opportunity life presented and, with natural good humour, made something pleasurable out of it.

On that morning in early June he had left home as dawn sent the first deep mauve streaks to colour the eastern sky. From South Devon to the Berkshire Downs was a long drive and he was determined that they should arrive ahead of the furniture which had been loaded onto the lorry the previous day. Part of Theo’s pleasure came from the opportunity to put his foot hard on the accelerator of his Riley, part from the break with routine, but perhaps most of all – although he wasn’t aware of it – from the warmth of Albert and Tessa Humphries’ gratitude that he was putting himself to trouble on their behalf. All in all, the day couldn’t fail. A roadside breakfast of boiled bacon sandwiches and Thermos tea might not have been what he would have chosen, but the side of his nature which enjoyed seeing the pleasure he gave to his companions overcame thoughts of the laden sideboard at home.

Tessa watched admiringly as he bit into her bacon and mustard offering, glad that she’d cut off the crusts. How many people in his position would have put themselves out as he had? Albert had worked for Sidney Sullivan since he’d set up his coach business in 1919, and right from the beginning she remembered what a dear, pretty child Theo had been – Sidney’s nephew, poor little fellow with no mother and a father who, from the way local gossip went, he might have been just as well off without. In those days the name Sullivan’s Coaches had owed much to hope and confidence, for there had been but the one bus and Albert to drive and maintain it. Soon a second had been added, the route extended, a second driver engaged. But Albert had been the first and, as time went on and the company grew and prospered it was he who had been put in charge of the depot. If Theo had endeared himself to her, so he certainly had to his uncle, who often proudly brought him to the workshops where even as a child he’d been welcomed by any of the staff on hand, delighting in his outgoing friendliness. Tessa had seen him there often enough for, like him, she liked the cheery atmosphere of the workshops.

Remembering how things had been, then looking to the shapeless future, she was scared. It was one thing to be brave and cheerful while Theo was still with them, but in another day or two he’d be gone, and they would be by themselves miles from all they’d ever known. But as she packed the remnants of the picnic breakfast into her basket there was nothing in her expression to hint at her fears. Nearer the truth, Tessa’s thin face was never a mirror to her thoughts; pale, thin, round-shouldered, she gave the impression of frailty which was far from the truth.

‘On we go,’ Theo beamed, standing up ready to offer assistance to Albert, who had been seated on the step of a stile.

‘You help the missus and her packages; I’ll manage.’ And so he would. It would take more than an empty, pinned-up trouser leg to beat Albert Humphries. A giant of a man, ruddy complexioned and with a ready smile that hid images of the future every bit as terrifying as Tessa’s. ‘And now we’ve done eating, Samson better be given a couple of minutes to stretch his legs.’

‘I’ll get him. No traffic about, he’ll be all right off the lead.’ Theo said it with more hope than confidence, for the Humphries’ large, well-meaning retriever cum sheepdog was, in Theo’s opinion, utterly crazy. As if to prove him right, once out of the car Samson mounted the step vacated by Albert, leapt the stile and was away across the field. Despite all the calling and whistling, it was ten minutes before he came back, tail swinging, a large stick in his mouth and a look of hope in his eyes.

‘Don’t take it away from him,’ Tessa said, ‘he’s found it, so let him bring it in the car with him. I’ll see to it that he doesn’t chew it up and make a mess.’ Today she was all too aware of what it was like to drive away and leave the things you’d loved behind you.

So they were settled in the Riley, Albert in the front with Theo, Tessa, the basket, Samson and a two-foot long stick in the back. The next time the car stopped they would have arrived and they would see for themselves what sort of a place Heathfield Cottage was. Would the neighbours be hanging over their gates to watch the van being unloaded? Well, they’d not see much to interest them there, for Heathfield Cottage had come to her as it stood. Apart from clothes, linen and bedding, all they’d had carried out to the van yesterday had been treasures she couldn’t bring herself to part with: the pretty little table Albert had made when they were first married, the standard lamp, the fire screen she’d embroidered, pictures, the canterbury that had come to her from her aunt, china, ornaments and her few bits of silver – for inheriting the cottage from a bachelor she didn’t like to imagine its contents. Anyway she could no more live without her treasures than she could live without the clothes that comprised her wardrobe. Maybe they weren’t up-to-date fashions like those glamour pussies who grinned from the pages of all those movie magazines, but they were hers, part of her life. She had to accept the changes, she had to get used to a new way of living. Firmly, Tessa believed that Fate mapped out your pattern and you had to accept it, like it or no. And a kind Fate it must have been that had ended her cousin Augustus life only weeks after Albert’s accident. ‘You can always put his cottage up for sale,’ was what Albert had said. But Tessa knew better. If Fate took a hand like that, then it wasn’t for them to twist things around to suit themselves. A cottage of their own instead of renting as they always had in Moorleigh, a few pounds behind them to eke out the pension Mr Sidney had insisted on paying Albert … and here she was, feeling sorry for herself; she ought to be ashamed. As if he read her thoughts, Samson gave his tail an extra fierce wave and put his front paws on her lap so that he could reach to lick her face.

Less than an hour later they reached Heathfield Cottage. There were no neighbours watching; there were no neighbours. It must have been more than half a mile since they’d turned onto the bumpy lane in Wickley Cross and there had been no sign of a house until they reached Heathfield Cottage. Then, looking ahead of them, the lane seemed to narrow into a track that appeared to be going nowhere.

‘Work to be done here, that’s for sure,’ Tessa put a note of vim and vigour into her voice as she took stock of the overgrown garden and sadly neglected cottage.

‘All the time in the world to do it, my dear,’ Albert was just as determined not to be beaten. All this had come about on his account, that was something he couldn’t forget.

‘I’ll stay a few days if you’ll put up with me,’ the ever-cheerful Theo told them. ‘We’ll soon lick it into some sort of shape.’

The early summer day was glorious, the haze hanging over the downs on either side of the road hinting at a wonderful world beyond. Another half mile and Anna would be at Wickley Cross where she would turn left into the rutted lane that led her home. She could always leave her bicycle in the back yard of Alfred Harmann’s shop and travel to town on the special market-day bus, but except for when the roads were icy, no matter what the elements threw at her, she preferred her independence. Wednesdays gave her a freedom quite different from any other day. Not that her movements were restricted; they never had been. With six days of every seven spent mostly alone deep in the silent solitude of the country (for in such surroundings she didn’t consider the distant lowing of cattle or the occasional bark of a dog as breaking the silence), even as a child she had thought of Wednesday as ‘special’, a day that brought hope of some added adventure. There had been almost no traffic on the narrow road from Wickley Cross to Brindley, so on a suitably small bicycle she had been allowed to make the trip on her own. With more than enough money to cover her needs and a shopping list written by Mrs Short carried securely in the purse attached to a strap that hung around her neck, she would set off on her mission with a feeling of importance; and no one at home had considered it might be seen as strange for a child on her own to order her own lunch in the Olde Copper Kettle café. She had loved the bustle of people and the cries of the stallholders. Childhood behind her, she no longer anticipated adventure, yet subconsciously that bubble of excitement still lurked. Somewhere out there ‘life’ was waiting for her – perhaps this would be the day Fate led her to its path.

Having bought the first strawberries of the season and some clotted cream to go with them, a bag of potatoes no bigger than alley marbles and with skins that came off at a touch, on that particular Wednesday she’d still had enough left to eat roast beef in the Olde Copper Kettle and put sixpence in the barrel-organist’s collecting box. With economy playing no part in her outings, she always made sure that any luxury she brought home would be sufficient not just for herself and her grandfather but for all of them: themselves, Mrs Short, Lily and Potts too.

After pretty well an hour’s hard pedalling, with less than a mile to go, she turned off the road onto the last stage of her ride. The lane was rutted and the basket strapped to her handlebars felt heavy, so no wonder she wasn’t able to save herself when a large, shaggy dog rushed barking towards her, his tail flailing in excitement. She wobbled, and instinctively put out a hand to save her shopping, but it was too late.

‘Samson! Sam, come here! Oh dear, I am so sorry. He’s excited, you see, we’re only just moving in.’ As agitated as her dog was excited, Tessa Humphries hurried from the front garden of Heathfield Cottage. Anna was sprawled inelegantly on the stony lane, showing a pair of beanpole thin legs and with her shopping scattered around her. Her assailant was apparently delighted to have her at ground level and proceeded to lick her face in greeting. ‘Wretched animal! I always stand up for him, but I think Albert’s right: sometimes you’d think he hadn’t a ha’porth of sense.’

‘He’s already apologised.’ Anna laughed, her initial anger at the onslaught melting, probably overtaken by the sharp pain in her ankle and the sting of a grazed knee. Once on her feet she’d feel better, she told herself, mustering up her dignity. ‘The only damage is that my handlebars need straightening but I’ll soon do that.’ She spoke brightly, determined to stay on top of the situation in front of the stranger. Heathfield Cottage had been empty for ages, but she remembered how as a child she used to hate passing in case the owner was about. Could this pasty looking woman be something to do with him? Seldom did she see anyone at all on the long, uneven lane; to meet a stranger was a rarity indeed. Then, her bicycle retrieved, as she held the front wheel between her legs, preparing to straighten the handlebars, a voice called from the jungle that used to be a front garden.

‘Wait, I’ll do it.’ If it was a rarity to meet a stranger, to meet one like this was surely the heaven-sent moment she’d imagined. Her first impression was that he was handsome, but within seconds that first impression had been overtaken by a second. Aesthetic, that was the word that sprang to her mind; he had the face of a poet, with fine features, the long upper lip of a sensitive mouth, eyes as dark as coals. There was something in his appearance that suggested he came from far away, that his roots were in the Latin races. Perfectly capable of straightening her own handlebars, she surprised herself just how willingly she let him take her place while she brushed the dirt from her gingham dress and ran her fingers through her short wavy hair in an effort to present a better picture. He was well dressed with an eye to modern fashion, his blazer pocket bearing a gilt crest that looked more than anything like crossed propellers (perhaps they were supposed to be oars?), his pale-fawn trousers immaculately pressed, his shirt a gleaming white and open at the neck to allow for his cravat. He may have had the face of a poet, but not the attire. His two-tone shoes shone as though they had never made the acquaintance of mud, while his voice was in keeping with his well-turned-out appearance. Those were the thoughts that chased through her mind in the seconds it took him to cross the lane.

‘I’ll take my silly dog back in the garden,’ Tessa said, smiling affectionately at Theo. Always the same, bless him, she wouldn’t wonder this young lass would be the same as all the others. Like flies round a honeypot they were, and no wonder.

With the handlebars straight Theo turned his attention to Anna.

‘You’ve grazed your knee. You must come back to the house with me,’ he said, in a voice that told her he wasn’t used to argument.

‘I’m not hurt, not really hurt. I just fell awkwardly. Anyway, I’m nearly home. I live just along the lane.’

‘Even so, I shall drive you home.’ To him his voice sounded masterful; Theo was enjoying himself.

Dunsford House, where Anna lived with her grandfather, was the nearest house so there was no logic in his suggestion. That and Heathfield Cottage were the only two dwellings in the long lane.

‘There’s no need. I’m perfectly all right, honestly. And I’ll be home in no time.’

She might as well not have spoken. With the bicycle propped against the hedge that divided the lane from Farmer Gingell’s top field, he had started to gather up her scattered shopping. Fortunately the strawberries had come to no worse harm than spilling from their punnet into the brown paper bag; the potatoes had spread further and he was busy collecting them while Samson, who had again escaped, this time by wriggling through a gap in the hedge, barked with excitement as he nosed the tin of clotted cream, his hind quarters wagging out of control at the discovery of his game.

‘I’m not letting you ride. Sit down again and wait while I collect the car. It’s only across there in that jungle of a garden. I’ve been seeing the new owners settled at Heathfield Cottage.’

Curiosity getting the better of her, she sat on the grassy verge and watched him wheel her bicycle away. What made her fall in with his instructions so easily? She didn’t try to find the answer – it was enough that today had broken the usual Wednesday routine. In no time she heard the low throbbing of the engine and an open-topped Riley, with her bicycle lifted onto the back seat, reversed through the opened gates in the overgrown hedge that divided the wilderness of a garden from the lane.

‘There’s no need,’ she muttered, ‘honestly, I’m fine.’

‘If we only did anything out of necessity, what a dull time we’d have. Humour me. And Sam, it seems he wants to come too. He’ll have to share the back seat with the bicycle. He means no harm, you know, his trouble is that he has the brain of a sparrow.’ He shifted the position of her bicycle to make room for Sam, but he needn’t have bothered, for the dog stood on his hind legs, his head forced between theirs, the nearest thing to a canine grin on his face.

She wished the drive home were longer. Cycling it would have taken perhaps five minutes, allowing for the fact that she had to walk the last uphill part. In a car the journey was nothing.

‘I’ve come for a few days to see Mr and Mrs Humphries settled in to Heathfield Cottage. I understand it’s been empty a long time and he’s not able to be much of a help.’ Theo Sullivan managed to combine driving with taking stock of his passenger. Slightly built, arms and legs thin as matchsticks, yet by anyone’s standards she was a delight to look at with her high cheekbones, her tawny brown wavy hair cut into a fringe that emphasised eyes which were surely of the exact same colour, thick lashes and straight clear-cut brows. An artist might have imagined painting her, a poet might have waxed lyrical about her elfin-like appearance – and yet neither would have captured a quality in her character quite at odds with her waif-like build. Theo was enjoying himself. ‘Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Theo Sullivan and, as I said, I’m here to see the Humphries settled. And you?’

‘My name’s Anna Bartlett. I live with my grandfather at Dunsford House. That’s its chimney you can see above those trees.’

‘Just you and your grandfather?’

‘Oh no. There’s Mrs Short and Lily, then there’s Potts who helps Grandpa and does things in the garden when he has time.’

‘And where do you fit in?’

‘Pretty uselessly, if I’m truthful.’ She took a peek at him. Willingly, or more truthfully, eagerly, she acknowledged that she liked what she saw; she only wished he meant to make his home at Heathfield with the couple he seemed so concerned about.

‘How long have you lived here? There doesn’t seem much at Wickley Cross. Don’t you find it lonely?’

‘I can barely remember when I didn’t live here. My parents left me with Grandpa while they went on holiday to Italy. I was only three, so it’s pretty well all I remember.’

‘Some holiday!’ Idle conversation, for it could hardly be of interest to him when he was only here for a day or two.

‘They only went for a month or so. But there was an accident. They were out at sea on a friend’s sailing boat with a party – they loved parties – and there was a fire on board. My grandfather told me how it had happened long afterwards. He showed me the letter he’d kept that their friend had written to him. They’d been quite near the shore, but not near enough for anyone to row out to them in time. When they couldn’t put out the fire, they’d all dived into the water and made for the beach. And that was the last anyone saw of them. Mother couldn’t swim; my father must have tried to save her but both of them were lost.’

‘That was dreadful for you.’

‘I wish I’d been older so that I could remember them more. I just have a hazy recollection: parties, people, rushing about, that’s what they liked. I expect I should have hated that sort of life.’

‘And here? Have you friends living close? It seems completely isolated.’

‘I’ve always been used to just myself for company, being on my own was no problem.’ She brushed his concern aside. Talking to strangers was a rare thing for Anna; the experience was exciting for even though she’d not been used to mixing with people she knew nothing about shyness. ‘We’re almost there, the gate is just round the bend.’ Any second it would be over, he would unload her bicycle and drive away.

Instead, he braked and brought them to a standstill before they reached the bend in the lane.

‘You said you’re staying a day or two,’ she said almost without thinking. Anything to make the moments last. ‘Where do you really live? Have you taken some time off from your work?’

‘I live in Devon, just outside a place called Moorleigh. Moorleigh is hardly more than a hamlet, so you won’t have heard of it. It’s only a few miles from Deremouth, the coastal town.’

‘What do you do?’ Curiosity got the better of manners. Anyway, what did manners matter? In a few minutes he’d be gone, but she wanted to keep him talking, to give herself things to remember. ‘I mean, how do you earn your living? You have to go to Deremouth – or Exeter?’ She felt pleased with herself that she remembered enough about where Deremouth was to know that if the place he called Moorleigh was near there, then it couldn’t be terribly far from the city.

‘I don’t have to go anywhere. My work – if you call it that – is at home. My uncle runs the business; I naturally spend time there. I suppose I grew up with it.’

‘A farm, you mean? So you know all about living in the country.’

‘Indeed I know about the country. Yes, we have a farm.’

‘You don’t look like a farmer.’ She smiled at him when she said it, as if to take the sting out of her words. ‘I mean, you don’t look like any of the farmers around here. I expect that’s because you’ve got scrubbed up and dressed to bring Mr and Mrs Humphries. I only ever see any of the local farmers in their working things.’ By this time she had forgotten that half an hour ago she’d not even met him! She supposed either Mr or Mrs Humphries must be a relative, which must be why he could free himself so easily from the family business.

‘Mr Humphries was forced to give up work recently. They know no one in this district, but they were insistent that they should move here.’

Why had they chosen to come to neglected Heathfield Cottage?

‘They will be our neighbours so I shall call to welcome them. That must have been Mrs Humphries I saw.’

‘I shall be grateful if you’ll do that, Miss …? I say, do I have to call you Miss? I’m sorry, I forget what you said your name was.’

‘Anna Bartlett. Just Anna will do.’

‘Anna,’ he repeated, ‘It suits you. But the Humphries – they’ve never actually lived in a town, although this is worse than quiet: it’s isolated. Surely you must have found it lonely?’

‘Have I? I’ve never known anything else.’ She considered his words. ‘As long as I always closed the gates and never walked on any crops, I’ve been allowed to go wherever I like on my own, but I’ve never thought of that as being lonely. I suppose I made up the friends I wanted. That’s not loneliness, it’s almost magic. It brings to life all sorts of wonderful things. I’ve always read a lot, so there was no limit to the people I made my friends.’

‘What about school?’ He looked round at the empty fields, imagining the downs beyond. ‘Living here, you must have gone away to school – surely you weren’t taken all the way to Brindley each day?’

She supposed courtesy made him attempt to show an interest. But she talked willingly: anything to put off the moment when the car would drive away and she would be left with – with what? It was true that as a child she’d never consciously been lonely; it was also true that even as an adult she’d never lost her faith that somewhere, some day, ‘life’ waited just around the corner. Now, on this day that had brought such a break with the routine of her Wednesday trip, she was horribly aware of that isolation he talked about. But she needn’t let herself think of that – not yet.

‘School?’ She laughed at the question. ‘I’ve never been inside a school. When my parents left me with Grandpa, Miss Sherwin was already looking after me. I told you, they were very social people, a child must have been a dreadful inconvenience. Miss Sherwin was a sort nursemaid cum governess. She’d been a schoolteacher, but I think she liked the idea of just one child to look after. We had lessons every day, just baby ones at first. I expect it was quite different from proper school but I bet there’s lots I know that I wouldn’t have been taught in a classroom. Of course there was plenty we didn’t bother with. She taught me to use a sewing machine and make my own blouses and skirts; she used to say that would be much more useful than stitching nothing but embroidery. I learnt some French – not like I would have learnt it at school, or so she said. She taught me sentences, first just a few, then gradually I learnt more so that we had a rule that on Tuesdays of each week that was the only language we were allowed to speak. Even Grandpa joined in sometimes. Poor Mrs Short,’ she added, laughing as she spoke, ‘she “couldn’t abide Tuesdays”, that’s what she used to say. You’d think she would have tried to learn so that she could talk too, wouldn’t you? But she used to stay tight lipped and disapproving.’ Then, another chuckle. ‘I expect a Frenchman would have thought we sounded funny, although I believe I know enough to manage if ever I cross the Channel. But mostly it was literature. With Miss Sherwin I found out about loving books. Stories are alive if you let them open the door into their world. So, you see, that’s how I’ve never been short of friends.’

‘Tell me about your grandfather. Tell me about what you do with your days. Not just what’s gone. But now.’ He was surprised to hear himself asking.

‘There’s nothing to tell you about my grandfather. Really my parents had an awful cheek dumping me on him even for a month or so when he’d come to live here for peace and quiet. That’s really all he’s ever asked. He never needs people, books have always been his world. He used to be a classics master. Long before I came to live with him ill health had forced him to give up – that, and I suppose age too. That’s when he bought Dunsford House, looking for peace in his old age. But I don’t think he could ever refuse my mother anything, so he had a three-year-old thrust on him. And after that, there was nowhere to send me.’

‘Children always think their grandparents are ancient.’

‘Yes, but he really was. He was, oh I don’t know, forty something, when he married. So was my grandmother, but she died when Mother was tiny. As Mrs Short says, Grandpa’s longevity is quite remarkable.’

He smiled. What a quaint combination she was: one moment as prim as no doubt this elderly grandparent expected and the next as excited as a child.

‘And this Miss Sherwin, is she still with you?’

‘Giving me lessons?’ Anna laughed. ‘Silly. She’s been gone for ages. She found a job in a girls’ school in Reading. I’ve seen her since she left, of course, but she belongs to them now, not to me.’

‘So you look after your grandfather?’ What an unnaturally tedious life for a pretty young girl. His stay with the Humphries was getting more promising by the minute.

‘Sometimes I think I’m not very useful at all. Mrs Short takes care of everything; she’s been with him since she was just a girl herself. Even before my mother was born Mrs Short was there. Of course, she has help in the house but she’s in charge. Then there’s Potts, who helps my grandfather with things he can’t manage.’

‘And you say you aren’t lonely?’ he prompted, certain a lot remained unsaid.

In that, he was right. Never had she been so near confiding in anyone as she was at that moment. But she overcame the temptation. He might patronise her, laugh at her!

‘I may not run the house for Grandpa,’ came the prim reply, ‘but I’m not empty headed enough to find my life boring. Only boring people get bored – that’s something else Mrs Short says. My days are very well occupied.’

‘Don’t you ever want to spread your wings and fly?’

If she did, she wasn’t prepared to tell him so.

‘Growing up in the country doesn’t mean you have to become a cabbage. I read the newspaper and discuss with my grandfather what’s happening in the world. We like to know what goes on, not just what we are going to have for dinner.’

He laughed, surprised to find himself enjoying a companion so naïve.

‘Here comes Mrs Short, looking for me.’ There was nothing in Anna’s manner to tell him of the sudden nosedive in her spirits as she groped for the door handle. Theo was ahead of her and by the time she climbed out he was holding the door open. Always the junior member of the household, she was unused to such treatment; it added to the magic of an afternoon that in another minute would be no more than a memory.

Amelia Short advanced on them, criticism in her every movement. A tall woman with youth put firmly behind her. Her dark hair had silver wings at the temples and was pulled tightly to be pinned in a bun on the crown of her head. Straight, tall, slim, confident; but what right had a housekeeper to speak to Anna as she did?

‘And about time too!’ Amelia said, pointedly ignoring Theo and his car.

‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you.’ Equally pointedly he spoke just to Anna as he lifted her bicycle to the ground and stacked her shopping in the basket.

‘Did you get my cotton?’ Again he might have been invisible.

‘Yes, of course I did,’ Anna answered, unperturbed and clearly used to the housekeeper’s manner. ‘It’s in my purse. Goodbye Theo, and thank you for the ride. Tell Mr and Mrs Humphries I am looking forward to calling on them. I’ll give them a few days to get settled first.’ Then, taking her bicycle from him, she followed Mrs Short and he heard the gate click shut behind them.

Back in the car Theo found Sam sitting bolt upright in the front passenger seat, his face carrying a message of hope. Now it’s just us, any chance of a walk? he managed to convey.

‘All right, old fellow. We’ll find somewhere to turn, then you can have a run. How’s that?’

Apparently it was the answer Sam had wanted, for his mouth opened wide enough for his long tongue to loll out as he panted in anticipation of things to come. Further along the lane Theo found a field gateway wide enough for him to turn the car then, remembering his promise, he stopped the engine and got out, followed closely by his excited friend. He really ought to get back to the cottage – he’d come to help. But it was pleasant enough out here, throwing sticks for Sam, letting his mind wander back to the elfin-like creature who’d been dropped into his path just when he’d considered the next few days