Miss Bowers’ neat cottage stood in a terrace of similar dwellings, each with a small garden in front. No one had such a pretty garden as hers, whatever the time of year. He stopped briefly to admire it.As he raised his hand to knock on the door, it opened and she stood there, head on one side. She always reminded him of a sparrow waiting to pick up some tasty morsel. Only in her case, it was information not worms which she enjoyed gathering.‘What can I do for you, Mr Lloyd?’He could see curtains twitching in the next cottage. ‘I wonder if we could discuss this in private?’‘Of course. Do come in.’He sat on the sofa, refused a cup of tea and explained exactly why he was there.‘You need a chaperone,’ she summed up.‘Yes. Or rather, Harriet does.’‘What is she like?’‘The Latimer line has bred true in her, unlike …’ He didn’t say it, but she finished it for him.‘Unlike her nephew, who doesn’t even look like a Latimer with that crinkly blond hair. He always reminds me of a ram my uncle used to keep.
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