Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection. Josephine Cox

through to the drawing room. ‘Is your mother all right? I mean, has she suffered any ill-effects from the fall?’

      ‘She says she’s all right. With Mother, you’re never really sure.’

      When Mary turned to smile at him, Ben felt foolish; like a shy young boy on his first date instead of a forty-year-old man of the world.

      For what seemed the longest moment, she continued to gaze on him, her quiet smile reaching deep into his senses. Suddenly the smile fell away and, slowing her step, she confided in him.

      ‘The truth is, since she fell in the churchyard, she hasn’t seemed well at all,’ she whispered. ‘I’m worried about her.’ Before she inched open the door, she confessed, ‘I wanted to call Dr Nolan, but she won’t hear of it.’ A sigh escaped her lips. ‘She’s so independent – and stubborn like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m half tempted to call the doctor anyway.’

      ‘There’s no use you whispering, my girl!’ Lucy called out from the inner room. ‘I can hear every word, and there’ll be no doctor coming into this house!’

      On entering the room, Mary was told in no uncertain terms, ‘If I needed a doctor – which I don’t – there is only one I would agree to seeing, and he’s living out his retirement in Liverpool. So we’ll have no more talk of doctors. Are you listening to me, Mary?’

      Reluctantly, the girl nodded. ‘Mr Morris found your bag in the churchyard. He’s brought it back. I thought you might want to thank him yourself.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Her reproachful gaze rested on her daughter for a second or two before switching to Ben. ‘I love my daughter dearly, but she will fuss.’

      ‘Only because she’s worried about you, I’m sure.’

      While he spoke, Ben was aware of how the room reflected Lucy’s personality. There was the solid furniture, reliable and stalwart, and then there was the colour and vibrancy in the curtains and the rugs. On following Mary into the room, he had felt her life all about him, in the lavish bright paintings on the walls, and the many figures, sculpted in china and pewter – some in the throes of embrace, others dancing, with arms in the air and feet atwirl.

      They reminded him of Lucy herself; mature in beauty, yet very much alive.

      ‘She’s no need to worry,’ Lucy snapped. ‘I’m fit as a fiddle, thank goodness – always have been.’ Her thoughts went back to her youth, to the time she’d gone astray, and the consequences that followed. Good times and bad, when life was lived to the full, when friends helped you through and nothing seemed to matter. And then there was Barney.

      Her heart grew sore at the thought of that wonderful man.

      Mentally shaking herself, she told Ben, ‘That’s two kindnesses you’ve shown me in one day. So thank you again, young man.’

      ‘It was the vicar who found it,’ Ben explained. ‘I simply offered to return it.’ He liked being called ‘young man’, though in truth, he was only about twelve years younger than Lucy, and indeed, had a grown-up daughter of his own. His feelings for Mary, however, were definitely not those of a father.

      When he turned to smile at Mary, Lucy was quick to see the spark between them. ‘I dare say that’s because you wanted to see my Mary again.’ Her face crinkled into that same mischievous smile he had seen at the churchyard. ‘Taken a liking to her, have you?’ When she gave a naughty wink, he couldn’t help but grin, despite his bashfulness.

      ‘Mother!’ Mary’s face went a bright shade of pink. ‘What a thing to say! Don’t embarrass Mr Morris. I’m sure he was thinking no such thing.’

      But Lucy took no notice. Addressing Ben, she put him on the spot. ‘Tell the truth and shame the devil, Mr Morris. You volunteered to return my bag because you hoped to catch a glimpse of Mary, isn’t that the truth?’

      Ben laughed out loud. ‘Do you always see through people so easily?’ It was strange, he thought, how easy he felt in her presence. ‘Yes, you’re right. I was hoping I might see her again.’

      ‘There! I knew it!’ Clapping her hands together with excitement, the older woman said triumphantly, ‘I knew he’d taken to you, Mary – didn’t I say so? And here you are – you haven’t even asked our guest if he’d like to join us for supper. Shame on you, my girl!’

      ‘Shame on you, Mother, for embarrassing us both like that.’ Even though she was elated by Ben’s admission that he had been hoping for a glimpse of her, Mary was so mortified she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Whatever would Ben think of her now? She hoped he would refuse the offer of supper and make some excuse to leave straight away.

      Lucy’s instincts were meanwhile telling her that here was a good man, a fine husband for her daughter, if he were free. She had little doubt but that these two could make a fine, happy life together. Yes! Should anything untoward happen to herself in the near future, Ben Morris was the very man to take good care of Mary, for he reminded her of Barney, in his smile and his manner.

      Lately, she had been feeling very low in spirits and health, and Mary’s future had come to concern her deeply. Although Ben must be twice her daughter’s age, and would have his own story to tell about his life and the reasons for his arrival in Salford, he seemed a kind and honourable man. She had already noted the hint of sadness in his eyes, and his beautiful artistic hands, not yet roughened by farm-work. It was time to find out more about him. She would start with the most important question.

      ‘Are you married?’

      ‘REALLY, MOTHER!’ Horrified, Mary sprang forward. ‘One minute you invite Mr Morgan to supper, and the next you’re quizzing him about his private life. I’m sure he won’t stay a minute longer than he has to – and who would blame him?’

      Over the past few years, there had been several young chaps who had shown an interest in her; to her dismay, Lucy had systematically sent them all packing. Yet there were good reasons for this: not one of them was good enough for her, Lucy said grimly, and had been proved right when each one had eventually shown his true colours.

      ‘Nonsense! I mean no harm. I’m just being my usual, nosy self,’ Lucy replied with a stay of her hand. ‘Besides, I should be old enough now to speak my mind without offending anyone. I’m quite sure our Mr Morris won’t mind. After all, we need to know the calibre of the man who’s crossed our path twice today.’

      Addressing Ben she asked pointedly, ‘Are you offended by my questions?’

      Ben shook his head. ‘I was married and now I’m divorced,’ he said quietly. ‘Not the most pleasant experience of my life, I have to admit.’

      ‘And have you children?’

      ‘A daughter … Abbie.’

      ‘And where is she?’

      ‘Abbie lives in London, where she shares a flat with other young working people. I miss her, but she is due to come down to Far Crest Farm next week to spend a few days with me.’

      ‘That’s enough, Mother!’ Stepping forward as though to protect Ben, Mary told him, ‘You’re welcome to stay to supper, but you can leave right now if you want to, and I wouldn’t blame you. You see, Mother won’t stop asking questions until she knows everything about you.’ Mary so much wanted him to stay, but it had to be his choice.

      ‘That’s OK. I might even ask a few questions of my own, later,’ he said.

      Lucy laughed out loud. ‘Now then, young man. Will you stay or will you run?’

      ‘I’ll stay.’ His mind was already made up. ‘Thank you very much. Should I go home and change for the occasion?’ He had an idea that Lucy Davidson might be a stickler for protocol.

      He was wrong. ‘You look decent enough to me, so you can put that silly idea out of your head,’ she said. ‘It won’t take Mary long to rustle up a meal for the three