Snowy reached the gate of his parents’ house, opened it and put his key in the lock. At this time of night both his parents would be in bed, and the house was in darkness. Snowy sighed, pushed open the front door, closed it softly behind him, and headed for the stairs. As he undressed and got into bed he was telling himself that it had been a good evening. He and Tess had quarrelled, but they had made it up. He flattered himself that he had no need to fear competition from any but the ploughboy, and judging from the tiny bit of letter Tess had allowed him to read Jonty Bell now had other interests. Snowy remembered hearing someone say once that land married land, and if it was true, and he rather thought it was, then this Pamela, no doubt a farmer’s daughter, would be a far more suitable match for young Bell than a girl living a couple of hundred miles away, whose only connection with the land lay in her ownership of a pet shop.

Satisfied, Snowy slid into bed. His fears had proved groundless, and if he dreamed of Marilyn Thomas he did not remember doing so when he woke next morning.

Chapter Eleven

MORE THAN FOUR years had passed since Tess’s Pets had been opened for the first time and Tess was just unlocking the door of the pet shop when she saw, through the glass, a large figure with what looked like a box in his arms approaching her door. She pulled it open before the man had a chance to knock, and ushered him inside. ‘This’ll be my day-old chicks,’ she remarked cheerfully. ‘Morning, Mr Haslett. Isn’t it a grand day?’

‘Aye. We’d better make the most of it – summer will be over before we know it,’ Mr Haslett agreed. He eyed Tess’s grey suit and white blouse with interest. ‘Where’s you off to? Or haven’t you had time to put on your overall yet?’

‘I’m off to Wales to interview a new supplier,’ Tess told him. ‘Mitch can cope, though if he does need help Gran’s only a shout away.’

Mr Haslett put his burden down carefully on the counter. He delivered all manner of things, coming up from the country on most days with everything from foodstuffs to live animals, and Tess was a regular on his route. ‘Who’s your new supplier? Don’t say someone’s begun to do exotics, ’cos I know that’s what you’re after.’

Tess laughed. ‘I shan’t be doing exotics for a while yet, if I ever do; there’s not much call for exotics in Everton. It’s more the cheaper end of the market.’

The large man laughed too. ‘Cheep, cheep, as them chicks would say,’ he commented. ‘Tell you what, miss, I supplies three or four pet shops now in the city and none of ’em shift their stock as fast as you do. Why is it, d’you think?’

Tess smiled. ‘It’s because I know how to treat the animals and birds I sell, and now that I’ve had over four years’ experience of the trade I know better than to let day-olds go to people who won’t look after ’em right. But I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor cockerels, who are fed like princes until Christmas is just a few days off . . .’