The grotto

IT had been a long, hard drive. Frances had left early, hoping to get away before the rush hour – only to discover that the rush hour started earlier still. She stopped for a break further south than

So, what do you think we should get Elsie this year? She’ll be a hundred and one next Saturday.” Jemma beckoned her husband over to her laptop where ‘Granny Gifts’ ranging from bird baths to potted ja

I n the corner of the drawing room ...

THE angels were gleaming in the summer sunshine, all alabaster skin, fabric shaped folds of marble, and enraptured faces. On Naomi’s last visit to Rome, she’d rushed along this bridge on a breakneck t

GRAN, you know I love the hotel. But I’m not the person you need,” Emma said. “You publicise those events you run,” her gran, Betty, replied. “I’m sure you could use some of those skills to help build

THE clamour of seagulls woke Frances. For a moment, she was disorientated. Not so much in place – she knew this bedroom well – as in time. She had the odd feeling that none of the last 30-odd years ha