Anne sighed. ‘He’s got set ideas about us. Just a typical man, I suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he says after we’re married he’ll be the husband and I’ll be the homemaker.’

‘What about your profession? You’ll be a teacher. That must come first.’

Anne shook her head. ‘He doesn’t see it like that. He’ll expect me to be at home tidying the house, making his meals and warming his slippers.’

‘Anne – it’s not my place to interfere, but you need to tell him how you feel and you need to do it soon.’

‘You’re right,’ said Anne. ‘I’ll try.’

Lily watched the young student walk away looking thoughtful.

Lily was staring up at the scudding clouds when Tom appeared. ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Just trying to point Anne in the right direction.’

‘Really? She seems fine to me.’

‘Apparently John Grainger has some old-fashioned ideas.’

‘Such as?’

‘Married life. The roles of men and women. Husbands and homemakers.’

‘I see.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t see marriage like that. You’re too good a teacher.’

Lily looked up at him quizzically. ‘Sometimes, Tom Feather, you say just the right thing.’

He stroked her cheek gently. ‘That’s the problem with love, Lily. You can’t choose. It picks you.’

She stretched up and kissed him, but said nothing.

‘One day I’ll understand you,’ he said quietly.

Lily shivered.

‘Shall we go back inside?’ Tom asked. ‘I don’t want you to get cold.’

It was last orders and Mavis was serving John Grainger and Tom Feather, making sure they had every opportunity to admire her prodigious cleavage as she pulled the pints. She looked up at the young woodcarver. ‘Ah ’ear y’gettin’ married.’

‘That’s right, in the summer.’

‘Ah know t’secret of a ’appy marriage,’ said Mavis and she gave a conspiratorial wink in Tom’s direction.

‘And what’s that?’ asked John.

‘We go out twice a week for a meal.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Yes, it is. Ah go on Tuesday an’ ’e goes on Friday.’

Chapter Thirteen

A Friend for Miss Golightly

It was Saturday, 4 April and spring had arrived in all its glory. Tiny lambs tottered on uncertain legs in the fields and yellow petals of forsythia lifted the spirits. The log fires and long, dark days of winter were but a distant memory and thoughts of playing in the woods and Easter eggs filled the minds of the children of Ragley village. In the flower tubs outside The Royal Oak the daffodils raised their bright-yellow trumpets to the sky and the first swallows had returned to their old haunts to build their nests.