The first thing she saw when she arrived at the house next morning was the erstwhile picnic rug draped over the back of her chair. Biting her lip, she folded it carefully and put it at the back of a shelf, out of her line of vision. Start, she thought, as you mean to go on.
She went to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it to boil, then put water in the small glass vase she’d brought from the Vicarage, before taking a pair of scissors from her bag and going into the garden.
‘Lovely day,’ said Ted Jackson, appearing from nowhere. ‘Another heatwave coming, they reckon.’
‘Well, we can always hope,’ Tavy returned, making for a bed of early roses in an array of colours from soft blush to crimson, and snipping a few buds.
‘Cheering the old place up, even when there’s no furniture?’
In spite of herself, Tavy found she was glancing up at the first floor windows. ‘Not all the rooms are empty,’ she said.
‘Upstairs, maybe.’ He paused. ‘You were working late last night?’
‘Well, yes.’
He nodded. ‘Jim forgot his tea flask and when he came back for it, he saw lights.’ His smile was almost cherubic. ‘He wondered, but I told him it must be that.’
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