Dani straightened her back from bending over to watch Cheryl compose a complicated pattern of pieces of wool and twigs and scraps of material into a collage, and smiled complacently. They had been so lucky. So very lucky. Dani moved a paint pot that teetered dangerously close to the edge of the table and thrust her hands into the pockets of her painting smock as she circled the tables. Who would have believed that Prentice McCulloch, the day after the fire, would have seen the Managers of the school and the head teacher and put part of the ground floor of the Manor at their disposal? It was such an extraordinarily-generous gesture that for a while Dani had suspected his motives, berating herself silently for being arrogant enough to wonder if it was done because she was one of the teachers in the school. She knew it was far more likely to be another idea for improving public relations between himself and the village. It was not.
