A slight young man whose eyes were a blaze of blue beneath unruly dark hair, with mobile features and engaging manners, Paddy came with her recommendation. He had pretensions to journalism and was, he said, writing a series of articles on gardens, and eager, with Anthony’s permission, to write about Leysmorton. ‘A newspaper?’ Anthony seemed bemused at the idea of his garden being of such general interest. ‘Well, no, possibly some magazine or other,’ he replied airily after a moment. ‘If they’ll have it.’ He ran a hand through his curls, dishevelling them even more, and laughed. ‘Perhaps you’ll spare me some of your time, sir, and share your knowledge with me?’ ‘How long is all this likely to take?’ ‘Oh, some time, I should think,’ Paddy said, waving a vague hand. ‘One mustn’t rush these things.’ ‘Then you must stay with us until you’ve finished.’ ‘I say, that’s awfully good of you. Are you sure?’ He looked suitably astonished, but pleased, and Anthony smiled.
