He tiptoed across the polished floor, watching Jacqueline nervously as if she were a time-bomb. She held out both hands, feeling warmly kin to him, an entirely unexpected feeling of belonging.“Guy! How pleased I am to see you! The only bit of family I possess this side of the Channel.”He smiled wryly. “Is that the only reason you’re pleased to see me? Because you’re homesick?”“I—no, of course not. Do sit down and stop looking nervous. And let me introduce you to my fellow-sufferer, Bridget O’Hara.”Guy breathed more freely. “I expected to find you all bandaged up. And Deborah said you didn’t remember me.”“I’m promoted to a neat dressing now, and I do remember you—and Gypsy and everything. How is Aunt Connie?” She was excited. She was talking too much and knew it. But she had not, until this moment, realised how truly homesick she was. Ill amongst strangers—friendly strangers, but not the same as someone of one’s own. And here was Guy, part and parcel of the Timberfold legend in which she’d grown up; part—in a way—of home.Liz came in and there were more introductions.
