‘You’re wrong on both counts, Marianne. Ann has become very good at bottling her feelings and sooner or later the cork will blow off. As for Harry – well, he’s become an expert at manipulating both her and Howard. What I’m saying is, he uses their fear that crossing him will have dire results to get his own way. Since I’m not about to let him manipulate me, this evening I gave him a lecture which resulted in nothing more dire than his barring me from the house.’

‘What had Ann to say about that?’ Marianne inquired.

‘That she isn’t prepared to increase her anxiety by going against him and I had better stay away. But someone has to do something, Marianne, and I suggest it be you.’

With that, her uncle rang off. Did what he had been telling her account for his strained tone? Perhaps. But Uncle Nat also had troubles of his own. He had said recently that he wasn’t getting on too well with Leona nowadays. Nor had Aunt Rebecca yet returned from Florida.

It was no secret that Leona had blamed her father for her mother’s once turning to the bottle, Marianne reflected. Or that her childhood was far from ideal. And it looked now as though Aunt Rebecca’s staying with her widowed sister might become a permanent arrangement. Leona was at present in Fort Lauderdale visiting her – and probably trying to persuade her to come home.

Marianne did not let herself contemplate what might transpire between Leona and her father if her mother said that she would never come back. Florida was a long way off and that would be for Leona tantamount to losing her mother at her father’s hand.

As for what was going on at Harry’s house… Marianne pitied Ann. Howard, too. Wasn’t the separation from his child trouble enough?

Other than listen when he called her, there was nothing that Marianne could do to help Howard. But she could and would offer to give Ann a break. Take over nursing Harry – teeth gritted! – for a few days, while Ann enjoyed some peace and quiet here in Marianne’s cottage.

She can take walks and sit in the garden, it will be like a country holiday for her—

The sound of a car door slamming interrupted Marianne’s planning. She watched Ronald walk up the path, noting how handsome he still was. As much like Uncle Nat in appearance as ever, and as silver haired nowadays. Ronald, though, had gone grey at an early age, Marianne recalled, and who could wonder? Their son, Alan, was a joy to Ronald and to his wife, Diane. But Sharon, their daughter, was born brain damaged. Diane had dedicated her life to caring for her to the exclusion of all else.

Marianne opened the door and received a hug.

‘I got carried away by my thoughts and forgot to put the kettle on, Ronald—’