Lucy realized it was a Saturday. She’d lost track of time when she’d been in hospital, the days blurring one into another in a way that had a never-ending, nightmare quality to them, and since then she had never quite managed to get back into any sort of routine. Perhaps she could start now; although if she were to do as Cleo suggested she would be resting, taking a proper break. She realized she hadn’t had a holiday for about ten years. Her time had been an endless round of work, practicing, performance ever since, as a child, she had shown such prodigious talent.

She reached for the sunshade and tilted it to cast the shadow in her direction. Although she and Cleo shared a superficial resemblance, everything about Lucy was a shade paler. Her hair was chestnut to Cleo’s almost black, her eyes were pale blue to Cleo’s deep lavender and her skin freckled where Cleo tanned easily. She watched with a little envy as Cleo extracted a battered straw hat from her bag and squashed it down on her unruly curls, somehow managing to look incredibly cool rather than simply untidy. That was the other difference between them. Cleo had style.

“Help yourself,” Cleo said, pushing the plate of tarts toward her. “You’re the one who needs feeding up and I had breakfast.”

It was only when Lucy took a mouthful of the warm pastry, and the flavors of roasted pumpkin, rosemary and salty cheese burst on her tongue, that she realized how hungry she was.

“Wow,” she said, with her mouth full. “This is great.”

Cleo looked smug. “Food is magic,” she said. “You’ll see. Soon you will feel much better.”

Lucy felt the tears sting her eyes again. Cleo had visited her in hospital, traveling up to London specially to bring her little food treats to leaven the blandness of the institutional meals. Often, she hadn’t felt much like eating but Cleo had always sworn that good food was a cure-all. Good food, rest and sunshine... And suddenly, sitting here, she did feel a tiny spark of energy and hope breaking through the carapace of tiredness that had cocooned her since she first became ill.

“Isn’t there the most beautiful view from here?” Cleo’s voice was dreamy. “I’d forgotten how high Gunpowder Cottage is, halfway up the side of the hill. And even down here there’s the rest of the valley below and the view across to the Cotswold hills. Glorious.”

Lucy followed her sister’s gaze. The pale green hills, far across the flatlands of the Vale of the White Horse, were dozing in a heat haze. Nearer at hand, a shaded path dipped down the valley beside the stream, curling out of view for a moment before reappearing further down where the land opened up into a series of overgrown ponds and gardens amidst old tumbled walls. To the east of the barn was the field where the donkey grazed, and to the west was an orchard. And as she looked, Lucy saw the figure of a woman in a red gown slip between the apple trees. The sun was bright on her long fair hair and she was crowned with a daisy chain. She stepped lightly through the grass and there was a smile on her lips. Lucy felt the sense of contentment within her grow and expand, and she snuggled down in the chair, closing her eyes for a moment, but when she looked up the woman had gone...