He took the lid off a cake tin and cut a generous slice of Dundee cake. It was rich, moist and fruity and I ate with relish.

“Her grandmother is a good cook,” I agreed. “I’m surprised she hasn’t won you over with her cooking yet.”

He grinned. “She’s certainly tried hard enough, and dropped enough hints. But between you, me and the gatepost, I like things the way they are. She’s there when I need her and but she’s not driving me round the bend with fussing over me too much. And if I ever married her, I’d be stuck with Queenie as another granddaughter. I don’t think you’d want that, would you?”

“Oh crikey,” I said. “Queenie as a relative would be a bit much. She doesn’t do what I tell her now, when she’s only my maid. If she were a fellow grandchild, she’d be impossible.”

We laughed.

“So are you still at your friend’s place in the snooty part of Knightsbridge?”

“I was until this morning,” I said, and told him the story.

“You know you’d always be welcome to stay here,” he said, “but your lot wouldn’t like it.”

“I know,” I said. “But don’t worry because things sorted themselves out rather well. My brother is in town and has invited me to stay. I gather there is to be a royal wedding so he and Fig are staying on in London for another month. By that time something may have turned up.”

“Turned up? What sort of thing?”

I sighed and stared out past him into the row of identical back gardens with washing flapping on clotheslines in the stiff breeze. “I wish I knew. I’m always hoping I can find a job. I must be employable in some capacity. I’m sure I’d be a better lady’s maid than Queenie.”

He chuckled again. “I’m sure you would too, ducks.”

I drained my cup of tea and finished my cake. “Oh well. I suppose I’d better go and face the inevitable and retrieve Queenie. My only consolation is that my sister-in-law is going to be livid when she finds that Queenie is coming back into her house.” And I gave him a wicked grin.

Having given Granddad a good-bye kiss and promised to visit him again soon, I went to the house next door and rapped on the knocker. The door was opened fiercely and a face topped with hair curlers peeping from a scarf glared at me. “If you’re another of them Jehovah’s Witnesses telling me I’m going to hell, then I’ll tell you where to put this . . .”

“Hello, Mrs. Huggins,” I said.