‘Before you go, I was wondering: would you like to take some snowdrop bulbs? I just thought, you know, that it’d be rather fun if the bulbs had come from your Mr Gale, for you to plant some, when you get home. To think of them coming here all the way from the Black Sea and then taking root on the other side of the world.’

‘I don’t expect they’ve got time,’ said Ian. ‘For you to go digging about now.’

Hazel was touched. ‘That’d be great. Thank you,’ she said. ‘We’ll come outside with you, get out of Ian’s hair. I’d love to take a couple of photographs of the trees and the outside of the house, if that’s all right with you? Just for my own use.’

‘No, no, not at all,’ said Ian, standing. ‘Feel free.’ He went to fetch their anoraks.

In the car on their way back to Honeybourne, the two women agreed that Penelope had been much nicer than her husband. She’d gone to trouble on their account, with the tea: that had been kind.

‘Those little cups though, they leave you thirsty,’ said Dawn.

‘It was funny, the way she pronounced his name, did you hear her? Yarn, she called him.’

Dawn giggled. ‘Do you think it’s a nickname?’

‘I think it might just be how they say Ian, in their social class. It’d be funny if I addressed our thank-you note to Mr Yarn Eyres though.’

They both began to laugh and, once started, found that they couldn’t stop.

Back at their B&B, Hazel asked Mrs Powell about the snowdrops.

‘They like a temperate climate, snowdrops do. I’m not so sure as they’ll grow over there. What do you reckon, Frank?’

‘Depends how warm it gets. They don’t like it too warm, see.’

‘It gets pretty hot,’ Hazel admitted.

‘You could try them in some shade,’ said Mrs Powell, doubtfully.

‘But are they all right, in my luggage? We’re here for three weeks. Do I need to pack them into some earth, or something?’

‘Like a vampire, you mean?’ teased Mr Powell.

Hazel grinned.

‘You could put them in a sock, if you had one spare. Keep them dry and dark. They’ll be all right. But you don’t want to go telling them, at Customs, that you’ve got any living thing with you. They don’t like you fetching plants in and out, from different countries. Biohazard, see.’

‘Oh dear. Do you think I’ll get arrested at the airport for smuggling?’

‘Might well do,’ said Mr Powell, deadpan. ‘You could be looking at a custodial sentence.’

‘Don’t take no notice of him,’ said his wife, batting his arm.