She gave a wry smile, remembering the squirrels who’d dug up her tulips.
‘But it’s yourself that you’ve finally planted, Rud, here in England, isn’t it? You and your poetry. That’s flourishing.’
The thought seemed new to him.
‘I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ An interval, while he stared out over the swimming pond they’d had dug for the children.
Flicking the crumbs from her skirt, she was just thinking of the letters she’d write before dinner when he burst out.
‘If things had turned out differently in South Africa, if the party of government had been made of sane and honourable men, that would have been the place to try farming.’
That hobby horse again! Trying to distract him, ‘I do regret that wonderful climate. But there’d have been no Roman horse-bit for
