Chapter 16
Hana pushed the kitchen door open and sank into a chair at the worn wooden table. She put her face in her hands. Her fingers shook. Leslie wiped the sink with a cloth until the aluminium shone, jerking her head back towards Hana. “Tea, Miss?” Her gnarled brown hands gripped the cloth and scrubbed.
Hana nodded and muttered grateful thanks. She felt trapped in a Jane Austen novel every time the staff rushed to perform some minor task she could do for herself. She’d noticed how they referred to her husband as Mr Logan but resented not escaping the deference. Her palms patted the table-top. “Who moved this?” she asked. “Didn’t it used to sit nearer the centre of the room?” Hana swallowed, regretting the question as soon as it hit the air. Miriam kept the table in the heart of the
