“Never,” she replied. “I wouldn’t think it polite to hand someone a victory they didn’t deserve.”

“Even a child, like Margaret, who might need the encouragement of a victory?”

“Children are a special case. But I’d rather teach her well so that she’d soon be good enough to win fair and square.”

“Well then, let’s play and give each other no quarter.”

Howard won two sets easily without needing to exert himself. Jean only hit her stride in the second set, managing to get a few first serves in and hit an occasional winner, but by that time she was too hot and breathless to play on. When she looked at her watch she was surprised to see that it was nearly five. The hours in Howard’s company had sped past. It would be six before they reached home even if they left now. She felt duty tugging at her with its remorseless grasp.

Seeing her glance at her watch, Howard said, “This might be a good time to make a move. If we get caught up with tea we could be hours.”

“Yes,” Jean agreed, both grateful and despondent. “There’s Margaret to think of.”

“And your mother.”

Jean nodded. “I won’t forget today.”

This was no idle remark. In the days ahead she would think of little else, replaying their conversation and luxuriating in every remembered detail of their surroundings.

“We must hope there will be others,” said Howard.

“Yes, why not?” said Jean, knowing exactly why not.

The absence of Gretchen, so unexpected and fortuitous, could hardly be depended on in the future, but this was not something that could be said, or even thought, by anyone with a conscience.

They rejoined Aunt Edie, who had been woken by the arrival of Mr. Noakes bringing a basket of eggs and a jar of honey, in return for which he received a box of the second-best apples. He had brought a folding canvas fishing stool with him, perhaps accustomed to being offered no seat, and was now perched beside the sun lounger, displacing Chester, who had been bribed with a mutton bone. They were holding hands and leaning toward each other but jerked apart as Jean and Howard approached. Aunt Edie seemed quite flustered in his presence, her previous languor deserting her.

“This is Mr. Noakes, who I might have mentioned,” she said. “He looked after me when I came off my bicycle.”

“I’m very pleased to think you are keeping an eye on her,” said Howard.

“It’s a privilege,” said Mr. Noakes, looking at Aunt Edie with misty devotion. “I would do more if she’d let me, but she’s very independent.”

“He’s been very good to me,” she replied. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She squeezed his hand and this time she didn’t let go.

“It comes to something when your eighty-three-year-old aunt makes you feel you’re playing gooseberry,” said Howard when they were on their way.

Alongside the remains of the hamper, four crates of apples and a sack of cobnuts were stacked in the boot. On the back seat were the promised spoils of Aunt Edie’s clear-out—a musquash cape, a satin evening dress and three pairs of shoes last fashionable in 1920 for Gretchen; a jewelry box of tangled chains, broken strings of pearls and coral bracelets for Margaret. To Jean she had given an emerald pin brooch missing one of its stones.