“Forty-five? More if you’ve got them.”

“I could give you sixty. Have you tried winter aconite? The little buggers will walk right past it. It’d work in your woodland area.”

“Yeah, I’ve got quite a bit of that in already. I thought the cyclamen would make a nice color contrast. I’ve never known the deer to be such a menace; I mean, there’s always a bit of damage, even though they’re fed plenty through the season, but this year they seem ravenous.”

“Yeah, you’re not the first to say it. I think it means we’re in for a hard winter. Nature’s always the first to smell it coming.”

“If that sky is anything to go by, it could be about to get going.”

Nory’s phone rang, and her mum’s voice blared out through the speaker. She held it away from her ear so that her dad could hear it.

“Tell your father his tea’s stewing in the pot and his crumpets are cold, I’ve got work to do.”

“Roger that, O light of my life!” Her dad grinned into the phone. She heard her mum chuckle and ring off, the words silly arse just discernible before the line went dead.

“Well, that’s me told,” her dad muttered.

Nory excused herself while Isaac and her dad talked deer-proof plants and went off in search of her brother. He would be ambivalent to her presence but equally outraged if she didn’t come to say hello. Thomas was like the Godfather; you had to pay your respects.

She found him in the office battling with the computer.

“No, I don’t want to delete files, you bloody imbecile machine!”

“Arguing with insentient objects again, Thomas? One day she’ll answer you back and then you’ll be sorry.”

Thomas looked up. “Nory. I wondered if you’d be down. Mum said you were lording it up at the castle with a bunch of your old toff friends.”

And here we go.

“Nice to see you too, big brother.”

Thomas grimaced. “Why is this a ‘she’?” he asked, pointing to the computer screen.

“What?”

“When you came in, you said she would answer me back one day.”

“Did I? Oh well, all the cleverest things are women.”

Thomas screwed his face up and then smiled. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“I’d be better if I could get this spreadsheet to load.”

“Need some help?”

Nory moved round to the desk without waiting for an answer. Thomas would never ask her for help out of principle—what principle exactly, Nory had never been able to fathom—so it was always best to just barge in and force help upon him. She reached over him and, with a few clicks, restored the spreadsheet and pulled it up onto the screen. Thomas grunted an approximation of a thank-you.

“How are the boys?”