‘You care more about those blasted cats than that lass of yours,’ Marie Liddle had said when she had last been up to the farm. Now, guiltily, Ursula wondered if that were true. Would she be able to grieve so unequivocally for Sally? For more than a year Sally had been trying to persuade her to leave the farm. She sent glossy brochures advertising private retirement homes and estate agents’ details of bungalows in exclusive sheltered housing schemes. There was never any suggestion that Ursula should move in with her daughter. Sally lived with her accountant husband and their son in a sterile flat in Docklands. Sally worked full time and the spare room was needed for the nanny. Ursula supposed that the telephone call would be an attempt to see her mother neatly tidied away.

‘Hello,’ she said, non-committally. She was in no mood for a long conversation about the pressures of Sally’s work and the early signs of genius displayed by Joshua, her son.

‘Aunt Ursula.’ It was not Sally. The voice was female, calm. Ursula recognised it at once.

‘Molly,’ she said. ‘My dear. What a pleasant surprise.’

Her relief made her lose attention and like an old fool she had to ask Molly to repeat what she said next.

‘We would like to come to stay with you tomorrow night,’ Molly said without a trace of impatience. ‘George has a conference at the Cadver. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’

‘Of course!’ Ursula said. This was like magic, wish fulfilment. She should have thought of George and Molly at once. Molly was the child of Ursula’s elder sister. Now, in later life, they seemed almost contemporaries, though there was perhaps fifteen years between them.

‘Why don’t you come tonight?’ she asked. George and Molly would advise her.

‘But it’s late,’ Molly said. ‘And we’re booked into a hotel in Teesdale. George has been doing some birdwatching.’ She paused. ‘Is something the matter? she asked. ‘Has something upset you?’

‘Yes,’ Ursula said. ‘ It has rather.’

‘We can come now if you like,’ Molly said. ‘It won’t take more than a couple of hours,’

‘No,’ Ursula said. ‘That would be ridiculous. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

Molly accepted that without a fuss and rang off.

Back in the kitchen Ursula felt happier, but still could not settle. The cats were still in the pocket of her coat. She could not bear the thought of some scientist from the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food cutting them up. She drank a large whisky, pulled on her wellingtons and went outside into the cold again.