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then someone called, ‘Hester!’
    Turning, she saw Hugh Marchant reining in his pony and trap, halting by the pavement at her side, gesturing to her to stop.
    â€˜Hugh! What are you doing here?’
    â€˜Taking you home. Give me your bag – that’s it – now, in you get.’
    His face was full of welcome and instantly Hester forgot Mr Flynn’s amazing suggestion and her anxiety about telling Father.
    â€˜Good to see you again, Hester. Hold on to your hat – we’ll be home before you know it. Let’s race the bus, shall we?’
    â€˜Must we? I’d prefer to get home in one piece, please.’ She was laughing, gripping her hat as the pony trotted on. How lovely being with Hugh again: the old friendship easily established, and the knowledge that she could say whatever she liked, for he would understand.
    â€˜Don’t you trust me?’ Swerving past a lumbering coal cart, he slid her a wicked grin.
    â€˜Of course I do.’
    Trust . The word lingered for a second and she frowned – was it something to do with Mr Flynn? But then it was gone.
    As they drove along the Newton Road she asked, ‘How did you know where I was?’
    â€˜I called in to see your parents. They said you were doing some sort of class at the Reading Room and I had an errand to do myself, so here I am.’ He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Painting, are you? You were always good at it. Remember your sketches of the family picnics?’

    Hester let her mind wander. Memories flashed of those picnics, with Mother, Father, Katy unpacking food hampers ... a time of no worries. For some reason, she sighed. ‘Happy days,’ she said very quietly, but he heard and looked at her with a frown.
    â€˜What’s wrong with life today? Surely not unhappy, is it?’
    Thoughts of Father’s ultimatum swept through her mind, followed by embarrassment. Did Hugh have any idea that she was being prepared to become his chosen bride? And then, what if he didn’t want her? Suddenly she was laughing and clutching his arm as he performed another tricky swerve around the irritatingly slow carriage ahead of them.
    â€˜No, Hugh, not unhappy. Confused, perhaps. But let’s talk about something else. What about the tennis party on Thursday – who else is coming?’
    â€˜Oh, Fanny and Norah Wellington, I suppose, and perhaps another friend or two. We should make up a foursome and a couple of pairs.’ His brown eyes locked on to hers and his voice deepened. ‘I intend to partner you, Hester, so don’t let anyone else get a look in, will you?’
    She smiled back. Life was good. Hugh was back and, even if she had no intention of marrying him, he was excellent company – for a while. Yes, she would allow him to partner her, and perhaps even tell him about her painting, how she was creating a flora, and possibly going to study at Mr Flynn’s studio. Perhaps. But at the moment she just wanted him to go on talking.
    Hugh drove the trap up to the front door of Oak House and made an excuse for not staying any longer. ‘Mater’s got a luncheon party on and wants me to host it for her as Father is otherwise occupied. I’ll come and pick you up on Thursday – bring your racquet and be prepared for some fast games. Goodbye, Hester.’ He turned the pony on flying gravel and saluted with his whip. Giving her a warm last smile, he rattled out onto the lane.
    Hester sighed. Hugh was fun, he was easy to talk to, he seemed to enjoy her company and certainly she enjoyed his. She made her way upstairs to take off her hat and to tidy herself ready for luncheon, almost looking forward to being with Father and Stepmother again. And then something made her step into the little boxroom where she kept her painting materials and where the wild flowers she had
painted had been laid out on the desk top, drying.
    Just an empty space now. A bare desktop, blotting