The extent of those grounds meant that there was no chance to get acquainted with the neighbours, or even see them. Whoever they were, they existed in their own mansions, deep in their own grounds. Apart from Sally nobody came to the house, and they were completely self-contained. It was like existing in a separate world, where there was only quiet, and the chance to heal.

As the tensions drained away, she wondered when in her life before she’d known such total, spirit-healing peace. Not in her wretched marriage to Tom Landers. ‘All teeth and trousers,’ her mother had said angrily. ‘You’re a fool, girl. You’ve been a fool ever since you played fast and loose with the best man you ever knew, or ever will.’

And she’d laid a desperate hand over her mother’s mouth because that had been a truth she hadn’t been able to face, even on the eve of her wedding to Tom.

Before that, the short-lived marriage to Jack Smith. No peace there, only rows and bitterness, and a desperate attempt to cope with his drinking.

And before that…

She shut the thought off. She couldn’t bear it now.

With the money now at her disposal Elinor was able to pay a few outstanding bills, plus the cost of a taxi to bring Daisy for a visit. There was a joyful reunion, Elinor persuaded her friend to stay the night, and when the taxi returned for her next morning she departed with the promise to return again soon.

There was no doubt that her visit had been good for Hetta, who was becoming bored as her strength increased. As she’d told Andrew, she longed for a dog. Failing that, a playmate of her own age. Elinor kept her amused as best she could and the two of them enjoyed the happiest times they’d ever known. But still, there were times when she knew Hetta needed more.

One morning while they were breakfasting and mulling over what to do with the day, there was a noise from the front hall, and she went out to find a letter on the mat, something that had never happened before. Mr Martin’s mail was all redirected, but this one must have slipped through the net. She picked it up and was about to lay it on the hall table when the name caught her eye.

Andrew Blake.

It was a mistake, of course. Andrew and Mr Martin were friends. He’d simply asked if he could have some of his mail sent here.

But why? And in that case why didn’t it say ‘care of’? And why had Mr Martin never called her, as Andrew had said he would? Because there was no Mr Martin. This was Andrew’s house. Of course it was. How could she have been so blind?

Or had she? Hadn’t she at least suspected, and then turned her eyes away from the thought, not wanting to confront the implications?

All this time she’d been living here on his charity. She hadn’t known it, but he had known. Had he enjoyed the thought? Despised her? Laughed at her?

Could she blame him?

Now she could see how cleverly he’d arranged matters, redirecting his mail, having his calls diverted, locking so many rooms. He’d had to take a chance with the neighbours but even there he’d been lucky. They were too distant to pose any real problem.

The air around her head seemed to be buzzing, and it was suddenly unbearable to have this hanging over her. She snatched up the phone, called the hospital and left a message on Andrew’s voice mail. He came back to her almost at once.

‘Is Hetta all right?’

‘She’s fine. I called because some mail arrived for you.’

There was a short silence that would have told her the truth if nothing else had done.

‘I’ll be there this evening,’ he said shortly, and hung up.

She replaced the receiver, and in that exact moment it came over her what a stupid thing she’d done. She could have screamed. By forcing this out into the open she’d made the place too hot to hold her, but she had nowhere else to take Hetta where she would be safe and happy. She should have endured anything rather than spoil things for Hetta. And she would have done, if she’d stopped to think.

I don’t learn, she castigated herself bitterly. Act first, talk first, and think afterwards, when it’s way too late. Just like then.

She could simply have sent the envelope on to the hospital. Andrew would have guessed what she knew when he opened it, but he could have turned a blind eye. Now she’d forced him into the open.

She would have given anything to turn the time back ten minutes.

Or twelve years.

Still in a daze she wandered out into the garden, where Hetta was piling pebbles on top of each other with fierce concentration, until they collapsed.

‘It’s lovely having a garden, Mum. I do like it here.’

So did I, she thought. It was like the Garden of Eden. But now the serpent’s poisoned everything.

‘Let’s go back in,’ she said in a strained voice. ‘You mustn’t overdo it.’

By ten o’clock that night he hadn’t shown up, and there was no message. Ten became eleven. Midnight passed.

It meant nothing. There was an emergency at the hospital.

And he wouldn’t think to call me, she thought wryly. Because he sees only the straight path ahead. No distractions. Why am I such a fool?

The call came the next morning while she was serving breakfast. As she had thought, it had been an emergency.

‘I was going to let you know,’ he said, sounding tired. ‘But things were desperate. I couldn’t call you myself and I-didn’t want anyone else to do it. I’ll be there tonight, if that’s OK?’

She assured him that it was fine. To be on the safe side she went out and bought a newspaper with details of rooms to let. And that evening it was the same, hour following hour with no sign of him. So now she knew where she stood. But why? she wondered despondently. Why be kind and then snub her like this? For the pleasure of it?

When she’d put Hetta to bed she sat downstairs for a long time, trying to make herself do something decisive, but lacking the energy. The world seemed cold and dreary.

Suddenly it was one in the morning. She’d been staring into space for more than two hours. She pulled herself together and went out into the hall to mount the stairs. As she did so, a brilliant light shone through the door window, almost blinding her. There was the sound of a car engine, then the slamming of the door. And finally the doorbell.

It couldn’t be Andrew, because he must have a key.

But it was Andrew, frowning and uneasy.

She stood back to let him pass, closed the door behind him and helped him off with his coat.

‘I’m sorry to be so late,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t seen the lights on I’d have left. I’ve been operating all evening.’

‘Then you’d better have something to eat,’ she said. She needed time to sort out her thoughts. His face was exhausted and haggard, and he looked so different from the man she’d been picturing that she felt the ground shaking under her feet.

‘Just a snack. Don’t go to any trouble.’

‘Omelette,’ she said, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got plenty of milk.’

‘Fine, I’ll have some.’

She filled a tall glass with milk, and watched him drink it. ‘Johnny used to say you drank so much milk because you were preparing for your first ulcer,’ she remembered suddenly.

‘Yes,’ he said, as though the memory had surprised him. ‘So he did.’

After that she turned away suddenly to concentrate on the omelette. He asked how Hetta was progressing, and mentioned her next appointment, and in this way they got through the next few minutes.

He ate like a man too tired to know what he was putting into his mouth.

‘When did you last eat?’ Elinor asked.

‘Staff canteen. Lunchtime.’

‘Is one omelette enough?’

‘Would you mind making another one?’ he said at once.

She smiled. ‘Of course not. Go into the other room, and I’ll bring it in.’

A few minutes later she found him on the sofa. She set the plate down on a low table beside him and he smiled his thanks.

‘I’m sorry to do this to you two nights running.’

‘Don’t be silly. Your patients come first. Was it another emergency?’

‘No, the same one. A child. He was rushed in last night, and I thought-it looked like it would be all right. But tonight he took a turn for the worse. We did our best for him, but there was never really any chance.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s part of the job. You just have to go on.’ He gave a forced smile and indicated the food. ‘This is good.’

‘I’ve got some trifle. You should eat as much as you can.’

He gave a faint grin. ‘Fattening me up?’

‘You never got fat, whatever you ate. It used to make me so mad.’

‘Yes. I know.’ He added quickly, ‘Some trifle, then.’

Another mine dodged. But still the minefields stretched ahead.

When he’d finished eating he yawned, then leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed. She could clearly see the shape and line of each feature. The straight, uncompromising nose, the strong chin that could only have belonged to a stubborn man, and the mouth that somehow didn’t fit with the rest of the face. It was expressive, mobile, suggesting sensitivity, although it had hardened somewhat since they’d loved each other years ago. There were two deep lines on either side of it now, and more lines at the corners of his eyes. It was the face of a man who spent most of his life being tired, and refusing to admit it.

For years she’d resisted the memory of his kisses, and her own frustrated desire for him. But the really dangerous memory was more recent. Just a few short weeks ago his arms had held her as he’d soothed her sobs in the hospital garden. She could feel him now, drawing her head against his shoulder, murmuring soft words of comfort, and against this memory she had no defence at all.