I smiled. ‘And meeting the Butterworths has done the same for me.’

‘Does that include this Jenson fellow?’ Dad asked with the perception that can only come with several decades of parenthood.

‘He’s lovely,’ I said with a sigh, glancing up as a clock struck five. ‘But I imagine, as we speak, he’s probably accepting a job in South Africa.’

Over the next fifteen minutes it felt like I spoke or sent messages to everyone I knew. I’d never experienced such praise in my life. I knew how Pippa felt after her success at the library; it was very flattering to be appreciated. The loveliest call was from Betsy and Marjorie who were having a day out together but had managed to work out the speaker phone function on Betsy’s special big button phone in order to both hear the conversation.

‘Ted couldn’t have done a better job himself,’ said Betsy with a tremor in her voice.

‘And I bet Jensen’s impressed,’ Marjorie added. ‘All that stuff about China; Betsy and I were flabbergasted.’

‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. And Betsy, it was you who gave me the idea of looking into it,’ I said, ‘when you mentioned about Samantha ordering our Classic Cuvée for the golf club.’

‘Do you really think it’s possible, dear girl?’ Betsy asked. ‘Could we send Butterworth wines to China?’

‘It would entail a lot of work, but it would be possible,’ I said carefully. ‘Although, I thought you were planning on selling up after the harvest? Are you thinking you might like to carry on for another year? Because if you were, I’d happily stay on.’

My heart thumped with hope; even one more year would be amazing …

‘But what about the baby?’ said Marjorie.

‘And maternity leave?’ Betsy added.

‘If Emmeline Pankhurst can do it, so can I,’ I reminded them.

I heard some hissed comments volley between the two of them but couldn’t make out the words.

‘Just spit it out,’ I heard Marjorie insist.

‘Oh bother,’ Betsy grumbled. ‘I wanted to talk to you properly about this, face to face, but seeing as it’s come up, I’ll give you a condensed version.’

My stomach twisted nervously; whatever it was it sounded like bad news.

‘Okay,’ I said with a gulp.

‘Marjorie and I have decided to buy a bungalow together,’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ I said, meaning it. ‘What a great idea.’

They made a great team, they clearly adored each other; together they’d be happy and safe and really that’s what we all longed for in our old age, wasn’t it? Health, happiness and a good laugh every day.

‘It’s a new development for the over fifty-fives,’ said Marjorie. ‘All mod cons and a live-in warden, so if Betsy overdoes the sherry, help will be at hand.’