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other option, I opened it, and was surprised when a bank of sunlight and a haze of bushy greenery burst upon me. I could hear the sounds of birds, and the faint, throaty noise of an engine far away. My feet crunched on gravel, and I felt the sun pound on the top of my head.
    â€˜We’ve put you over in the cottage,’ said Pamela, taking the lead. We were following a gravel path leading away from the house, on either side of which was a tall, perfectly squared hedge. Surreptitiously I ran a hand along the green wall, half expecting it to be solid, and was surprised by its prickly give. ‘It’s tiny but very sweet, and I thought you’d want your privacy. If you get lonely you can always bolt back to the house and we’ll sign over one of the spare rooms.’
    It took me some time to absorb this information. Naturally, I had assumed that I would be living at close quarters with the Maddens, and having abandoned all thoughts of privacy or independence in my new life I greeted their unexpected return with ambivalence. It struck me then that the cottage arrangement could, on the contrary, entail privations more dire than those of which I just been relieved; namely that I would in all probability be sharing it with another of the Maddens’ dependants, perhaps Mr Thomas and his ailing wife. I did not relish this prospect, and yet it seemed impossible that I would have a cottage all to myself. Not wishing to appear grasping or ungrateful, I felt unable to quiz Pamela on the subject, which taunted me along the path with alternating delight and dread.
    We rounded a bend in the path and there, suddenly upon us, was a vision. It was an old white cottage, built on a single storey, with a thick thatched roof which slanted so low over the front that it resembled a long fringe with two eyes and a nose – the windows and door – beneath it. From the top protruded a chimney, and to the side, I could just see, was a tiny window in the angle of the roof. It was so small that one could take it all in from a single standing position. There was a wrought-iron gate in front of us, beyond which a narrow path led up to the door. On either side of the path was a square of garden, and the whole thing was surrounded by a tall, thick tangle of hedgerows and trees which gave it an atmosphere of shady secrecy. The garden itself was unruly, with sprays of wildflowers and some kind of fruit tree in the middle. On the front of the cottage was a splash of vines, as if the garden had risen up like a large wave and crashed against it.
    â€˜Mrs Barker’s been in to tidy up, but Heaven knows what kind of state it’s in,’ said Pamela, opening the gate. ‘Our last girl was not the most responsible creature in the world. You’re free to brighten it up with anything you can find, and Thomas will come and do battle with the grass for you every couple of weeks.’
    At this I deduced, with a cautious pirouette of glee, that I was to have sole command of this vision. We were standing in the buzzing garden now, in the sun, and the heat fused with the birdsong to form a single, pulsing note which thrilled in my heart. The cottage seemed to me to be the loveliest thing I had ever seen. It was in my mouth to ask Pamela why she herself did not live here, before I remembered that of course they had the big house, and that my rhapsodies were those of scale and expectation. Like a child in a room of adults, I had sought out only what was in my line of vision, what represented my own proportions; and consequently found more to please me in this miniature place than I had in its grander neighbour.
    â€˜So what do you think?’ said Pamela coyly, turning to me with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were wrinkled in the sun.
    â€˜Oh, it’s lovely!’ I said. ‘I didn’t expect anything like this at all.’
    â€˜Well, it
is
rather useful,’ said she, with evident satisfaction. ‘These