Now, here at last, miraculously, almost unbelievably, she was walking into what was to be, so long as she stayed in Walwyk, her very own house.

And what a house! Inside the door was a square hall, paved with black and white tiles upon which lay, casually strewn, several richly coloured, silky-surfaced Persian rugs. Under the window, to the left of the door, stood a carved dower chest; in the centre, a black gate-legged table bearing a blue-and-white bowl full of spring flowers. The stairs, covered with dark-blue carpet, curved upwards from the wall opposite the door. Beyond the point where the stairs began, there was an archway, the entrance to a short passage with two doors in it, facing one another. That to the left was closed; the other was open, and Miss Mayfield could see a white sink, some shining taps, a red tiled floor.

She saw so much before Berta and Ed, carrying the trunk, entered the house.

‘Might as well take it straight up,’ Berta said.

When they had gone by, Miss Mayfield turned to her right and opened the door which was on that side of the hall. The sitting-room! For a moment she was afraid that she might cry. White panelled walls, a rose-scattered chintz on sofa and chairs, an antique writing table, white-painted shelves for books on each side of the fireplace, more flowers.

Wrong perhaps, weak – to take such pleasure in nice surroundings, to set such value on what was, after all, mere material. One must remember, always, how little such things really mattered. . . . But even that Puritanical thought could not diminish her pleasure. God had put beauty into this world – even a snowdrop was meticulously designed – and He had given to men the skill to make beautiful things, so, if by chance, one were fortunate enough to encounter lovely surroundings, one should be appreciative and grateful.

Miss Mayfield turned back into the hall just as Berta and Ed set down the crate of books.

‘Leave it there,’ she said. ‘I can open it and carry the books to the shelves a few at a time.’

As she spoke a large black cat came stalking out of the kitchen, walked straight to her and began to rub against her ankles, purring heartily. The last, the perfect, touch of welcome, she thought, bending to stroke the glossy fur.

‘S’posed to be a sign of good luck,’ Ed said, ‘but I can’t say I take to them myself. Terrible thieves, too.’

‘Does this one belong here?’ Miss Mayfield asked.

‘Well, you know how cats are,’ Berta replied. ‘Here one minute and gone the next. I will say, all the time I’ve been getting the house ready, he’ve hung about as though he was waiting for you.’