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By Root 1813 0

grey stone house. It was twin gabled and symmetrical, and of that more attractive ilk of gothic architecture once reserved for the clergymen of the Church of England: indeed the twinkling stained-glass gaze of the small grey church beside it testified as much. As if more proof were needed, the discreet wooden sign on the gate bore the legend ‘The Old Rectory’. It opened automatically, sensing our car bonnet, and as we crawled across the crunchy gravel under the roomy shade of a splendid old beech tree, the sun, with a flash of cussed brilliance, picked out the mellow stone façade of the house, complete with pretty wooden porch painted a tasteful grey-green, one I recognized from the Farrow and Ball colour chart, crawling with late and fading roses.

As if this paralysing sight weren't enough, the front door opened and there, on the door step, before I'd had a moment to compose myself, were mother and daughter, although it took me a moment to decide which was which. Both were tall and slim, with long blonde hair, and wearing jeans, T-shirts and big anxious smiles. I suddenly felt incredibly overdressed in my meet-the-mother-of-my-husband's-love-child kit of long floral skirt, little nipped-in tweed jacket and suede boots. And she was gorgeous. Gorgeous. For some reason it was the mother my eyes flew to first, with those fabulous cheekbones I recognized from the photograph: full mouth, flawless pale complexion and teeny tiny figure. Beneath her thick blonde fringe I caught a glimpse of amazing blue-green eyes. I gulped. Your average nightmare.

Ant and Anna were already out of the car as I was gawping through the back window taking all this in, embracing, kissing, exclaiming. As I hurriedly got out to join them, my heel got caught in the hem of my floral skirt, which meant I fell out of the car, and in an effort to save myself, cannoned headlong into the mother, Isabella, arms outstretched, as if intent on embracing her.

She steadied me in astonishment as my nose squashed hers. Ant lunged to catch my arm.

‘All right, old thing?’ he laughed.

Old thing. He never called me that. But beside this enchanting creature it was decidedly apposite.

‘Yes!’ I gasped. Shit, my ankle.

‘Evie, this is Bella. Bella, my wife, Evie.’

Flushing with shame and annoyance and, actually, pain, I flashed a manic smile. ‘Hi!’

‘We're so glad you've come,’ Bella said eagerly, meeting my eyes. ‘You've no idea what this means to us.’

It was a simple little speech, but heartfelt; unrehearsed, unlike so many of mine, and consequently disarming.

‘It's… lovely to be here,’ I managed.

‘And this is Stacey.’

I turned, properly, to the daughter. Wide nervous blue eyes gazed at me, like a frightened deer, the colour of Ant's, the shape of her mother's. Her blonde hair was swept back off a high forehead, her bottom lip almost quivered as she plucked nervously at the bottom of her T-shirt with long sensitive fingers. She was so obviously Ant's child it took my breath away.

‘Hi,’ she whispered, averting her eyes to the gravel.

‘Hello, Stacey.’ I smiled and held out my hand, which she took eagerly.

A young springer spaniel came wiggling out of the door between their legs, barking uncertainly. Anna exclaimed in delight and bent to pat him, and as Stacey eagerly introduced her pet, her mother ushered us inside, me, gushing nervously about the proportions of the wide hall, its ancient flagstones, the paintings on the walls, Bella, thanking me for my compliments as I secretly marvelled at the two girls, drifting to each other's side at the foot of the stairs, smiling shyly, the puppy having bounded off. Sisters, I thought with a lump in my throat as I saw them exchange hushed enquiries, cheeks flushed, admiring each other's bracelets, and I realized Bella was watching them too, eyes bright. I glanced at Ant, but his eyes were full of such an extraordinary light, such pride and astonishment, I had to look away.

We followed Bella through to the kitchen: a square sunny room painted duck-egg blue with a terracotta floor and a smart black Rayburn. French windows