She pulled the drawer open, viciously, and rummaged amongst bits of paper. ‘Washing machine!’ she cried, ‘Toaster, electric toothbrush!’ She flung out bits of paper. ‘Liquidiser, digital clock, iron!’ Paper whirled around, like leaves in a gale. ‘Hair dryer, typewriter, other beastly electric toothbrush that never worked!’ Her voice rose, hysterically. ‘Coffee grinder, electric carving knife, Lesley’s letters!’

She stopped. I turned, slowly. She lifted out four envelopes and gazed at me. ‘I knew they were somewhere safe,’ she said, and then we both started laughing.

Letter one: From—L. Weinstein, LDS, BDS, Dental Surgeon. Reminding L.B. Featherstone and E.A. Feather-stone that Your six-monthly dental examination is now due. Could please telephone and arrange an appointment.

Letter two: From—Reading Public Libraries. Advising L.B. Featherstone that ‘Forgotten Women in History’ (L. Tims) and ‘Coping with Depression’ (C. Gittings) are now overdue. Please return these books at your earliest convenience.

Letter three: From—Ben. To—Edward. I am having a Birthday Party on 16 November, and Hope you can Come! 4.30–6.30. RSVP. P.S.: Come Dressed as an Alien.

I put those aside and opened the last one: a thick, cream envelope.

Letter four:

Col. and Mrs R.E.P. Featherstone,

The Copse,

South Lane,

Sittingfold,

Glos.

Tel: Sittingfold 372

Darling Lesley,

Much as you dislike ‘committing’ yourself, I fear that Christmas is nearly upon us, yet again, and your father and I would like to finalize arrangements. I’m sure this is very boring of us but, believe it or not, we also have a life to lead.

Now we come to the tricky part. Much as we enjoyed your ‘therapist’ friend’s participation in village life—a lasting memory for many, especially our vicar—I think we can all agree that last Christmas was not perhaps our most successful on record. I wonder if the woman in question would be happier, this year, to pass the festive season in the bosom of her own family, rather than ours? It would also give us a chance to get to know our own grandchildren, sorely missed and sorely loved.

Bright today, but cold. Tell Vicky that the Frost Fairy was busy last night (mostly wreaking havoc with the last of the chrysanths). Daddy has painted the attic room for Edward—do be polite about the colour.

With all my love, darling,

As always,

Mummy.

P.S. I would phone, but you know what happens then.

I laid it on the sink, gazed at Hilda, and let out my breath.

‘Well?’ said Hilda.

I pointed to the phone number: Sittingfold 372.

‘We’ve got her!’ I whispered.

Seventeen

Seventeen

We dialled Lesley’s parents all evening, but it wasn’t until 11.00 that we got a reply. I had told Hilda to talk to them—her explanation seemed less complicated than my own.