At the far end of the Gardens stood the manor house – much older and larger than its neighbours, its stone a shade darker from the passing of a few extra centuries, more flaxen than honey, the ancient walls lush with the deep dark green of Boston Ivy, looking like the distilled essence of some lost England of a hundred years ago. The manor house stood apart from the rest of the Gardens behind iron gates designed for horse-and-carriage, not car, and beyond neat, gently rising lawns that looked as though they had been cut with nail scissors, at the end of a grey ribbon of a driveway, behind tall trees that I could not name. It looked like the grand old house in a Gothic novel, waiting to be woken from some bewitched sleep.

Roman sighed by my side, and I leaned against him.

The Gardens might lose some of its romance in the middle of a cold grey winter but on a big blue day in late August with the smell of cut grass in the air and the sun gently toasting all that soft yellow stone, it was beautiful.

Our new home, I thought.

Then there was a sensation so light on the back of my hand that I took it for a summer breeze. But a bee had landed, attracted by my jar of honey, and I held my breath, waiting for it to sting me. The bee seemed to stare around, getting its bearings, its wings making a blurry rotation movement like a tiny helicopter, its inky legs kicking in strange jerking movements.

‘Human beings can learn a lot from bees,’ Sally told me, watching the one on the back of my hand, making it clear that I shouldn’t even think about swatting it. ‘Their work ethic. Their sense of duty. Their compassion and their sacrifice. Bees live their brief lives in the service of a greater good. Bees are the essence of resilience!’

The bee abruptly lifted from my hand and meandered off into the unbroken blue sky. As we watched it go, Roman slipped his arm around my waist and I could smell the sweat mixing with his cologne and feel his hopes for this place coming off him in waves.

I smiled at him, touched by his happiness and hugging the warm jar of honey, and he grinned, scooping me up in his arms. Sally Berry clapped and the removal guys cheered as my husband carried me across the threshold of this house of dreams, our second shot at building a happy home, the place where we would try to begin again.

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