Mitch smooths a hand over Charlotte’s face, standing back to look her up and down. The hand strokes over her stomach. “The holiday's done you good.”
“It has. But it’s so good to be back.”
Mitch takes her by the hand, leading her indoors. “Come on inside. I wasn’t sure if you would have eaten. I’ve made sandwiches and salad.”
Michael strides in behind us, dumping luggage in the hall. “Hi Mitch. You should have come with us. You would have enjoyed it.”
“I've enjoyed myself anyway.” Her eyes flick to me, uncertainly, then away again. “I'll make your coffee, shall I, and you can tell me about it.”
In the kitchen, the coffee-maker pops and splutters. Mitch stands close by, crossing, uncrossing and re-crossing her arms, occasionally looking at me then her gaze sliding away again.
“And what
