Why had Barbara agreed to let this unknown English girl stay?

welcoming. But if this was to be her place of work, well, it wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Inside might have been shabby, but it certainly wasn’t drab. Everywhere there were leaflets and posters with the candidate’s face blazing out at them in front of the American flag.

Ellen gazed at the images. So this was her boss, Barbara’s son-in-law, Steve. He had an allAmerican grin, sincerity shining from his eyes.

Splashed across his chest were the words Vote Steve

X Leveque, with the X written to look like a cross on a ballot paper.

A woman in her midthirties crossed the room towards them.

“You must be Ellen Barbara began, but Cindy spoke over her.

“I came late on to the scene.” She gave a little laugh. “Barbara won’t mind me saying the campaign was in pretty bad shape. So I cancelled a few of the events that were planned.

“You’ve really gotta think big if you’re going to win, so we borrowed pretty heavily to fund the campaign – all the printing, sweet-talking the press, that sort of thing. It all takes a lot of dough.” She shrugged.

“The September dinner is where we’ll make all the money to pay off the bank loan. You’ll really have to work hard to get the big boys to buy tickets!”

“No pressure, then,” Barbara murmured so

that only Ellen could hear. “Well, I must be off. See you later back at the house, Ellen.”

With an encouraging smile she was gone.

Ellen felt like a child on her first day at school, abandoned by her parent. But Cindy launched into a sea of instructions and Ellen had no time to ponder.

She shadowed Cindy for the rest of the day, asking questions and familiarising herself with the campaign.

Around lunchtime Steve arrived. It was obvious to Ellen that he was a born politician. Tall and tanned, with unruly fair hair, he exuded charm.

He also looked younger than his forty-two years, which might or might not be a good thing in politics.

Perhaps he needed a little more gravitas to be taken seriously. She made a mental note to suggest adding some serious meetings to the schedule.

“What do you think of the artwork?” he asked, waving a hand at the posters. “Neat, huh?”

“Very,” Ellen said sincerely. “It makes a great image, having the X in your name looking like a vote. Does your middle name really begin with an X?”

“Sure does. X for Xavier. My great-grandparents came over from France. Lots of Xavier Leveques in my family. You settling in?”

“Steve, you’re due in White Plains at three,” Cindy said, tapping her watch. “You don’t want to be late for that crowd.”

“You’re right.” He turned to Ellen. “See you on Saturday at the barbecue.”

He was hustled out of the door by Cindy.

Ellen sat down at her desk and, not sure what she was supposed to do next, opened her laptop.

Her screensaver was a photo she’d taken the previous summer at a village cricket match.

It was a scene of green grass, fluffy white clouds against a blue sky, and cricketers politely clapping as a man in immaculate cricket whites walked back to the pavilion. The man was Edward.

A wave of homesickness overcame her. What she wouldn’t give to be home, among familiar people and things. Not having to deal with everything being new. Not having to wonder about Cindy, and the distinct impression that the woman disliked her.

Ellen loved summer in England: Wimbledon and strawberries, Morris dancing, church fêtes . . .

Morris dancing? Most of the time England was grey and rainy, with dirty trains that made her late for work! Ellen was conjuring up a romanticised England that she had only rarely glimpsed. She really must pull herself together.

Cindy had spent some of the morning loading a few computer files on to Ellen’s hard drive. Ellen opened the folder and immersed herself in the plans for the forthcoming dinner, which would, as Barbara had said, be a very grand affair.

Ellen was grateful – it gave her something to fill the days with, as Cindy spent most of the week out of the office with Steve and Ellen was largely left to her own devices.

It was a relief when she locked the office door on Friday evening, ready for the weekend barbecue.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Unlike England, here you could plan barbecues in July and be almost sure it would be warm and dry.

In the kitchen Barbara was making pancakes: thick, fluffy American pancakes which would soon be dripping with butter and maple syrup.

“They smell wonderful,” Ellen said. “I’ll be the size of a house if I stay in this country very long!” Barbara smiled.

“I made them for Tyler’s breakfast every day until he begged me to stop. He was putting on pounds! He won’t ever get fat, though; he’s a bundle of energy.” She glanced at Ellen. “He’s very tall. And handsome, though I guess all mothers think that about their boys.” She waved at a collage of family photos on the wall.

There were photos of Barbara with a man, presumably her late husband, Tyler as a toddler, her daughter Pattie in a Girl Scout uniform, one of Pattie’s wedding to Steve and another of Tyler and Pattie together when they were children.

The largest was one of Tyler with his arm round a pretty girl.

“That was taken at the Senior Prom at high school,” Barbara said fondly. “I expect he’ll come home at some point in the summer, so you’ll meet him.”

This was clearly to be a real treat. But much as Ellen liked Barbara, she couldn’t imagine being interested in some young college student, however tall and good-looking.

Barbara seemed to read her mind.

“I think he has a girl up in Maine, where his college is, but I haven’t met her. Anyway, he has lots of friends here he’ll introduce you to. You need a few friends your own age.”

“Mmm,” Ellen said noncommittally. “I’ll be working quite hard once I’ve got a better idea of what I’m supposed to be doing. And when I get the authority to write cheques or pay for things electronically. Cindy said she would organise that next week.”

Barbara raised her eyebrows. Ellen saw her expression and laughed.

“You’re right, there’s a lot of Cindy’s ‘going to get organised’ next week.” She hesitated. “Does it seem to you that Cindy’s not used to delegating?” Barbara laughed.

“I knew the English were reserved, but that is the sweetest thing I ever heard! Do I think Cindy Ward is a power-crazed control freak? Yes, I do!”

She deposited three fat pancakes in front of Ellen.

“You’ll be fine. And if you have more time on your hands than you were expecting, well, I’ll find something to fill your days. Today there’s plenty to do.

The barbecue was being held in the garden of one of the local supporters – what Barbara referred to as Mary-beth’s “yard”, though it seemed huge to Ellen, with acres of rolling grass and clumps of day-lilies.

As they got out of the car they were met by the enticing smell of charcoal heating up.

Red, white and blue bunting was strung from the trees and, like so many of the houses round about, there was a flagpole on the front lawn proudly flying the Stars and Stripes.

Cindy strode across the grass to greet them, and immediately set them to work putting out hamburger buns, filling vast cool-boxes with beer and soft drinks and blowing up the red, white and blue balloons.

There was a party atmosphere among all the helpers, and Ellen found she was enjoying herself.

Just before twelve Steve and Pattie Leveque arrived. They hurried over to where Ellen and Barbara were pinning campaign posters to some dogwood trees near the driveway.

“Pattie, this is Ellen, who I’ve told you about,” Barbara said. “I need to talk to Steve, so look after her for me, won’t you?”

“How’s it going?” Pattie smiled with such warmth that Ellen took to her at once. “It must feel very strange, coming out here all by yourself. But you’ll get used to us. Only I guess it’ll take longer than six days!”

“I can hardly believe it’s been less than a week. It feels like months since I was saying goodbye at the airport,” Ellen confessed.

“Saying goodbye to whom?” Pattie probed, her eyes dancing.

“No-one who matters now.” Ellen gave a rueful smile. She found herself telling Pattie all about it,

which was unlike her. But talking to Pattie felt natural, and Ellen could feel herself relaxing.

The only time Pattie seemed to retract into herself was when Ellen asked a question about her own life. Then she would deflect the question adeptly, her eyes sad.

“We’ll have to see if we can’t do something about your unattached state.” Pattie laughed. “Maybe you should meet my little brother,” she added. Then her tone changed. “Here we go,” she said under her breath, indicating Cindy Ward, who was marching towards them. “Maybe we should stand to attention!”

“Oh, Pattie,” Cindy said sweetly, grabbing her elbow and steering her away, “I want to talk to you about the September dinner.”

“I’ll be back real soon!” Pattie called urgently over her shoulder.

Pattie also seemed to think Ellen would be interested in her younger brother. But why? After all, she was twenty-nine. Why would she want to go out with some fresh-faced boy still at college?

People had started to arrive, and Mary-beth called Ellen over to help give out food.

She was busy for the next couple of hours filling up salad bowls, fetching more relish, replenishing the huge pitchers of iced tea and answering the same friendly questions over and over.

Yes, she was having a great time.

Yes, she intended to go into New York City to see the sights.

Yes, Barbara Cady was a great cook, and she was lucky to be staying with her.

Yes, Upstate New York was a great place.

And no, she hadn’t met Tyler Cady.

This last question came exclusively from women, most of them young. He was obviously a big deal around here, and Ellen could feel irrational little curls of dislike creeping unbidden into her mind.

The afternoon wore on with an impromptu baseball game. Teenage girls gave traditional cheerleading chants.

Really, Ellen decided, it was like watching some cheesy American film.

“Have you watched baseball before?” Pattie asked as they cleared up later. “Is it like cricket?”

Ellen thought of the polite applause and cricket teas and laughed, then got herself in a tangle as she tried to explain the rules.

They were both laughing when Steve joined them.

“Time we were making a move, sweetheart,” he said to Pattie. “Great barbecue, Ellen,” he said, with the enthusiasm he seemed to generate wherever he was. “And you’re making Pattie laugh! That’s great!”

“I’d better say goodbye to Mom,” Pattie said, shooting him a warning look, and she went off.

Families were moving towards their cars, calling goodbyes. Steve put his hands on Ellen’s shoulders.

“You’re gonna be such an asset to the team. Hope you’ve had a good day, in spite of all the hard work,” he added. “I want to thank you, anyway, in case it all gets too hectic later.” He kissed her cheek. “See you soon, and keep up the good work!”

It had been a great day, Barbara decided later, as she and Ellen settled down to watch TV. Pattie had been animated when she was talking to Ellen – the most lively she’d been for ages, Barbara decided.

The trouble was, Pattie had her own job during the week, and in the evenings and at weekends she would be busy campaigning with Steve. There wouldn’t be much opportunity for Ellen and Pattie to get together.

Barbara slid a look across at Ellen. There was a faraway look in her eyes that she didn’t think was connected to the TV programme. She’d seemed to enjoy the barbecue, but really, there wasn’t much for her to do round here.

That idiot Cindy Ward wasn’t doing anything to alleviate the situation. It would help if she would give Ellen some proper work to do, or make some effort to be friendly. Cindy was the same age as Pattie, after all, and Pattie and Ellen had found plenty of things to talk about all afternoon.

But Cindy was not Pattie, Barbara acknowledged.

She sighed, and Ellen looked up.

“You OK?” she asked. Barbara nodded. “Sure, honey. I was just wondering what we could find for you to do round here. You must be bored with just a middle-aged woman for company.”

“You’re never boring, Barbara!” Ellen said. “Look at all the things you do. You’ve more hobbies than anyone I know.”

“Well, I’m a butterfly. I’ve gone through a lot of hobbies: painting, crossstitch, ceramics, bridge, you name it. Right now quilting’s my thing.”

“Did you make the quilt on my bed? It’s beautiful.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Barbara said. “That’s a point. On Friday evenings I go to my quilting group.”

She looked at Ellen speculatively.

“It’s mostly middle-aged women, but why don’t you come along? It would be better than staying in all by yourself.”

Barbara brightened at the thought.

“You never know, you might get hooked and go back to England with an all-american quilt to show for your efforts!”

Ellen suppressed a sigh. What else could she have said but yes? Staying in by herself had seemed quite an attractive idea.

She’d had very little time alone since she arrived. She liked her own company. She hadn’t even really had time to brood on the collapse of her love-life.

Her love-life was another matter which hadn’t escaped Barbara.

“I thought maybe there was some Romeo back in England that you’d be mooning over,” she’d said one morning over breakfast (delicious blueberry muffins this time – already Ellen’s jeans felt tighter).

“But you don’t spend enough time on your cell phone for that to be the case. I guess we’ll just have to find you a Yank.”

But had it really come to this, Ellen wondered as she helped Barbara carry bits of equipment from the car. Was she seriously reduced to joining a sewing group to meet people?

Not a sewing group. Barbara had corrected her gently when she’d made this mistake. They were quilters.

The other women looked up and smiled as she entered.

“Great to see you, Ellen!” “We’ll soon have you hooked, Ellen!”

“What, no man stolen you away yet? Just a matter of time, honey!”

Ellen forced a smile and went over to where the women were looking critically down at a sea of patchwork squares, roughly laid out on the floor.

“We’re just deciding on the best arrangement, honey,” Barbara’s friend, Mary-beth, said. “We’ve finished the Rocky Road quilt some of us were working on, so we’ll soon be ready to start quilting this one.

“It’s called Double Wedding Ring – over two thousand pieces in it, imagine! Janey’s going to do the sashing, ready for us to start quilting next time.”

Ellen must have looked blank, so Mary-beth explained.

“All the blocks, the big squares of patchwork, get joined together with bands of fabric in between. That’s called the sashing. Then the whole thing is put on to the batting.”

She frowned slightly. “A British friend of mine calls it wadding – the fluffy bit in the middle? And then that gets basted on to a backing sheet. Then the fun begins – the quilting!” Mary-beth was smiling as if her heart would burst.

They were all so