As she poured boiling water into mugs, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Is that Molly Pickford? I know her. It’s through her I got Petal.’ It was Thea’s turn to sigh as she wondered why she’d let herself in for having Petal as a lodger. She hoped it wasn’t because she was too feeble to say no to Molly, but she feared it was. Molly had insisted that her god-daughter and niece would be quiet and reliable, and able to pay the rent. While the last bit was true, which was important, Molly had forgotten to mention that Petal was extremely demanding. Thea often thought that even if she paid twice as much, she still wouldn’t be worth it.

‘Milk? Sugar?’ She handed her guest a mug, with suitable additions. ‘Are you related to Molly, too? Petal referred to you as her uncle, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that you are.’

Usually, by this time, Thea would have got over her feeling of awkwardness at being caught with her kitchen at its worst, but as he kept looking around him like a character in a science fiction movie beamed down into a strange land, she felt obliged to distract him with questions she didn’t want to know the answer to.

‘We’re some sort of cousins. You’d have to ask Molly about how many times removed we are. She loves that kind of detail.’

Thea warmed to him a little. She picked up a pile of papers from a chair and indicated he should sit down. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your surname?’

‘Probably because Petal didn’t tell you it. It’s Jonson, without an “h”. Ben Jonson.’

‘Like the poet?’

‘Yes.’

His slight surprise that she should have heard of one of the sixteenth century’s most famous poets annoyed her. ‘I love his poems, especially the one he wrote about his son.’ She bit her lip. ‘His best bit of poetry…’

His glance made her feel she was strangely almost human, and yet not quite. ‘He said “piece”, actually. His best piece of poetry.’

Thea’s moment of sentimentality evaporated and her irritation returned. ‘Well, I knew it was something like that. You’d better sit down; Petal might be hours. Now, I hope you don’t mind if I get on with my cooking? In a moment of madness I agreed to give my lodgers an evening meal.’

‘Every night?’

‘Not Fridays or Saturdays, as they’re usually out, or home for the weekend, but I always do a big meal on Sunday night.’ It was Sunday now and Thea had been making a bolognese sauce for the lasagne on and off all day. She silently urged Petal to come back before she felt obliged to invite her uncle to supper. The lasagne might stretch, but the salad and French bread wouldn’t. ‘Please sit down, you’re making the place look untidy.’