. "Are you Sally?" I asked, remembering.Her face suddenly softened. "Elizabeth?" Of course," I told her. "I'm Martha. All under control. Give me your baggage."She yielded up her luggage and followed me up the stairs. "I'd expected someone older," she said, "I've eaten your meals. They were delicious."I had to laugh. But suddenly I felt very kindly towards this weary innocent."C'mon. Bath and a drink? Champagne on offer?"And so I watched her transform herself from a small and weary waif into a party hostess. I settled her in the guest-room and ran a bath. I came back with champagne and the box that Robert had sent. What a difference from Elizabeth - if this really was a lover. But she must be! I undid the box for her. Earrings! So pretty, but so perfect. Long strings of perfect pearls to hang against the curve of her jaw. She confessed that the she'd only worn the simple studs in her ear for two years. I watched her dry herself - swiftly, casually. Then into the guest-room - she seemed. Forests. Lakes. Winding lanes with hedges on either side. Songbirds on the wing. And although much of the English countryside was still pretty much like that, now Iris was employed as conscript labour on England's green and pleasant land, what she mostly experienced of life outside the cities was nothing at all like what she'd hoped it would be.As far as Iris was concerned the least romantic aspect of it all was the actual work she had to do. It wasn't as if she'd exactly volunteered for it. When one of the cleaning women on the estate where Iris used to work had stolen some jewellery and neglected to admit her guilt, every domestic servant employed within a few houses of the crime scene was dismissed. And it was Iris' bad luck that she happened to be out of work at the same time as the Government of National Unity was promoting its Home-Grown and English Food Initiative. The promotional material advertised a nostalgic England symbolised by cricket pitches, the healthy outdoors and a.
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