And suddenly she was a child again, saying, "Mummy, why are you always out of breath?"

"It's nothing, darling. Nothing at all."

But three months later her mother had been dead.

"It's nothing, Jake."

"You're telling me?" he'd demanded with gruff, angry affection. "When did you go to medical school? What does your doctor say?"

"Well, I haven't actually-"

"Then do it!"

So she had. And what the doctor had told her had been enough to put her on a plane to Los Angeles, to introduce Josie to her father while there was still time.

They were back at Luke's house in half an hour with the bags. Pippa got to work unpacking, "helped" by Josie, who bounced around getting underfoot until Pippa shooed her out.

"Go and talk to Daddy," she said brightly.

She kept the smile on her face until Josie had vanished, then sat down suddenly. Behind the laughter, she'd been desperate to send the child away before her gasps for breath became too noticeable. Josie knew only that her mother was occasionally poorly. She had no idea of the severity of her condition, and Pippa wanted to keep it that way until this trip was over. She clutched the end of the brass bedstead while her head swam.

''Not yet,'' she prayed frantically. "A week. Just give me a week.''

Think about something else. Concentrate hard until it passes. Look around you. See how inviting this room is with its polished wood floor and two brass bedsteads, draped in white. No, don't look at the bed. It'll make you think how much you long to lie down. That's it. You're feeling better now.

Outside, on the balcony, she could hear Josie calling, "Mummy, look! We're at the seaside."

Until now Josie had been too preoccupied with meeting her father to have much attention for the scenery, but the full glory of her situation had burst on her all at once.