I thanked heaven fervently that chestnut twigs could somehow be tortured into shapes actually resembling baskets. Good enough, at any rate, to catch a five-year-old’s fancy. All in all, I reckoned I’d made quite a hit with Jane. Once or twice, when she was completely absorbed weaving the bendy twigs in and out, she forgot to stammer. “Look,” she cried excitedly, “I can do it for myself.” I shot out a restraining hand to check a doting gush of praise from Tansy. Lucidly, the message got through to her. “You do learn quickly,” I said to Jane seriously. “Already you’re nearly as good at it as I am.” She gave me a shy smile of pleasure. Achievement was something rare in her young life. But I wasn’t fooled by the easy conquest. I’d faced rusted prejudice in parents often enough, but this was in a different category. Corinne had declared war on me. For some strange reason she was on the wrong side in the fight for Jane’s speech. I decided to tackle Gwen about this unaccountable obstacle.
