‘I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ said Gilly, channelling her inner playgroup leader. ‘But thank you.’ She gave Leo the sort of smile she usually kept for potentially difficult bed and breakfast guests. It never failed her.

‘Let’s get you home.’

As they drove back through the lanes of Gloucestershire, Gilly thought about Leo’s wonderful house. And the more she thought about it the more she realised that no house, however wonderful, was better than her house. Fairacres was home, damp patches, deathwatch beetle and all.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Leo, looking down into her eyes, his expression sincere.

‘Lovely,’ said Gilly, looking up into his eyes, mirroring his expression.

Neither of them meant those warm looks, she realised, but she wanted to get away politely. It was only later that she wondered whether Leo did too.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Listen,’ said Amy to Helena on the phone later in the morning after Helena had been to see Gilly and come away with a lot of pork. ‘Are you sitting down?’

‘I am now.’ Helena was telling a lie. Amy sounded so urgent that standing up seemed a better choice. It was probably that Amy had forgotten to tell her they had a workshop in Cornwall tomorrow and they had to set off immediately.

‘OK, well, you know the Springtime Show?’

‘Yes,’ said Helena, slightly sarcastically, ‘the show where all the really high-end crafters display their work and it costs a grand to get in.’

‘Right. Well, I’ve got you in!’

Helena exhaled and perched on the edge of a very broken-down armchair that had apparently once been leather. ‘Calm down and breathe. How can I possibly be “in”? It’s booked up the year before it’s on and – in case you missed it – costs a grand to enter. Am I sharing your stall?’ Amy had indeed booked her stall at this show the previous year.

‘No! The stalls are tiny. There was a cancellation. I was with some other people and one of them got the call. None of them wanted to take the place so I said yes. For you!’

‘Amy! How can I go? I’m busy enough getting stuff together for Woolly World and I couldn’t take that stuff to Springtime, it’s too rustic. Quite apart from the money.’

‘I’ve paid for your entrance. You’ve got just under three weeks to create some suitable stock and you’ll get your money back – my money – no problem. Helena, this is the perfect opportunity for you to weave in silk.’

Helena wiped her arm with her forehead. Amy knew about her long-held ambition to work with silk, one she had batted away numerous times as being impractical. But at a show like Springtime, where people who would willingly spend well over a hundred pounds on a scarf visited with credit cards and a lust for luxury retail opportunities, silk would be perfect!

‘I haven’t got time—’