17
No wonder Vera didn’t want to be seen in public was Abigail’s first thought when she saw her on her arrival at Covert Farm, late that afternoon. Neither dark glasses nor make-up would hide the purple swelling round her eye, her swollen lip and the dark, ugly bruise along her jawline.
But, battered though Vera’s face might be, she was a changed woman. The incubus that had made her life a nightmare for the last twenty years had at last been removed from her and even her voice had gained strength. She looked years younger, and if not happy, at least less browbeaten, no longer wrapped in the subservience of a flowered overall, but wearing a sweater and trousers, with her hair newly washed, revealing pretty golden lights among the auburn.
She had baked scones and prepared tea, and set it
