She hurries to the front door and waves as her sister, her niece and her nephew climb down from the cart, and Mr Barker undoes the straps around their luggage and begins to pile it on the ground.‘Oh, careful with that one, please! It’s rather fragile,’ Amelia cries. Mr Barker clamps his jaw into his moustaches and nods in a surly manner.‘Darling Amelia! It’s so wonderful to see you! Come here, children, let me look at you,’ Hester calls. She holds the two children at arm’s length: eleven-year-old John, who has sandy hair and a rather pinched-looking face, and is all skin and bone; and eight-year-old Ellie, who is plump and cheerful, with pale grey eyes and a tucked-in chin like a china doll. Her little blue and white sailor dress is tight across a round tummy, and creased from the journey. Just as I would have looked at that age, Hester thinks, with a tug of affection that is almost painful. ‘Goodness me, how you’ve grown! I can scarcely tell it’s you! You’re enormous!’ she exclaims.
