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      ‘Pritchard, George.’ He held out a hand and smiled and she didn’t feel put out any more; he had a smile which was nice, friendly and reassuring. ‘I hope your aunt is pleased to see you.’

      Phoebe closed the door gently on the custard. ‘Well, yes, I think on the whole she is.’

      He nodded. ‘Good. She’s ill, you know that.’ His gaze swept round the kitchen and stayed on the fish. ‘Her supper?’ he wanted to know. ‘What about you?’

      She was touched that he had thought of that. ‘Well, there’s nothing much in the house—I can’t think what the nurse had to eat. I’ll make some toasted cheese.’ The small nose twitched; she was hungry again. After all, she hadn’t had much to eat all day—a good cooked dinner. Her mouth watered at the thought.

      ‘I’m on the other side of the green. When I’ve done my rounds I’ll send my housekeeper over to sit here while you have supper with me. No, don’t argue, it’ll give me a chance to explain your aunt’s case to you and discuss medicines and so on.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘About eight o’clock. Right?’

      Phoebe nodded happily. If this was Aunt Kate’s little whipper-snapper then she liked him. She closed the door after him and went back to her cooking. Life was suddenly full of promise. She hadn’t thought of Basil even once.