‘Cottage makes it sound more grand than it is,’ she said. ‘It’s only one up and one down with a bathroom built on the back. The gardener lived here when our house was first built. It was a pigsty before then, I think; some sort of outhouse anyway.’

The door was fastened by a padlock. She unlocked it then hesitated, feeling suddenly uneasy. She wished she’d had a chance to look around the building before inviting the stranger in. She should have left Lily in the kitchen while she checked the state of the place.

But although she was aware at once of the damp, it was tidy enough. The grate was empty, though she couldn’t remember cleaning it after her youngest daughter and her husband had been here at Christmas. The pans were hanging in their place on the wall and the oilskin cloth on the table had been wiped down. It was pleasantly cool after the heat in the meadow. She pushed open the window.

‘They’re cutting grass at the farm,’ she said. ‘You can smell it from here.’

Lily had stepped inside. It was impossible to tell what she thought of the place. Felicity had expected her to fall in love with it and felt offended. It was as if an overture of friendship had been rejected. She led the woman through to the small bathroom. Pointing out that the shower was new and the tiles had recently been replaced, she felt like an estate agent desperate for a sale. Why am I behaving like this? she thought. I wasn’t even sure I wanted her here.

At last Lily spoke. ‘Can we look upstairs?’ And she started up the tight wooden steps which led straight from the kitchen. Felicity felt the same uneasiness as when she’d paused at the door of the cottage. She would have liked to be there first.

But again, everything was more in order than she had expected. The bed was still made up, the quilt and extra blankets folded neatly at its foot.