Major Roland Cove, Roly to his friends at the golf club, was sitting in his sun chair overlooking his spacious garden. It was his and Esme’s pride and joy. They loved doing the pruning and mowing, even the weeding. Normally, his wife would join him for their morning coffee, but since Saturday, he had noticed that she was a bit short with him. Actually, downright nasty at times. When he had told her that he was entering the Becklesfield Trophy next month, she said he could do what he damn well liked. It wasn’t like his Esme at all. She had come home in a foul mood that evening and hadn’t even cooked his supper. She said she had been to see Mrs Northover, to make sure she had enough bread and milk, and had promptly slammed the lounge door and gone off to bed in a huff.
Maybe it was somethin
