“It’s a mile and a ,” ing into the woods, “longer by road.”

    e crossed t  so old you, tom. It’s too . t o a  in disappointment at seeing tationary cranes and macers over t tell t. t up  in a brief conference of mackintoshes.

    Aurelius  by tableau.

    ‘I’ve seen they are?“

    ‘treet. ter the deer here.“

    ‘Do till  here?“

    ‘No. S looks after they’re a nice family.“

    Enviously er ttention o me,” uff—” ure and turned to’s go home.”

    tosurning back toes, he same decision.

    Aurelius and I  friendship.

    to cut out t and tery sky. Stretc an arm to pusra raindrops to add to t fell on us from tree and leaned over it, staring into ts  ened tting bark almost to fur.

    then, “home,” Aurelius pronounced.

    It one cottage. Built for endurance ration, but attractive all ts simple and solid lines. Aurelius led me around t a ell. It  t a o. Except t at tension, almost as large as tself, and taken up entirely chen.

    ‘My sanctuary,“ he said as he showed me in.

    A massive stainless-steel oven,  fridges—it chen for a real cook.

    Aurelius pulled out a c at a small table by a bookcase. talian. One book, unlike t on table. It ebook, corners blunt  ransparent after decades of being tery fingers. Someone ten RECIPIES on t, in old-fasals. Some years later ter  t pen.

    ‘May I?“ I asked.

    ‘Of course.“

    I opened to leaf t. Victoria sponge, date and  loaf, scones, ginger cake, maids of art, ric cake… ti