Bed of Roses. Daisy Waugh

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      Fanny frowns. Enjoying herself? It’s the question she and Louis always ask each other; it’s their justification for always moving on. Enjoying her life in Fiddleford? She’s been too involved in it to wonder. Suddenly it seems a ridiculous question. She’s not even certain how to answer it. ‘Funnily enough,’ she says at last, ‘and in spite of many things – yes. I suppose I am.’ And the frown lifts, as if she realises the truth of what she’s saying for the first time. She looks up at the General and laughs. ‘Funnily enough, I love it here,’ she says again.

      ‘Good, good.’ He nods. ‘Well, maybe we should get Solomon Creasey over. Don’t you think, Charlie? He’ll have some Silent Beauty trailing along, of course. But not to worry. They come and they go. Have you met him, Fanny?’

      ‘Not yet. I’ve heard a lot about him.’

      ‘Noisy chap. Tremendous chums with McShane. In fact, I rather suspect they have some sort of a history together…Well. Excellent. We shall see you next Sunday!’ He turns away without waiting for her reply. ‘Charlie? Jo?’ They are arm in arm, and nobody can fail to notice what an outrageously handsome couple they are, how happy they look together, and how incongruous in the foyer of the musty old Lamsbury Classic. ‘Shall we get going?’ he says briskly, and he charges out into the darkness, awkwardly tactful, leaving the lovebirds to amble slowly behind.