What you made me [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE With a thankful sigh Philippa sank back on her heels, surveying the stacked boxes and paper sacks, quickly stifling an unanticipated stab of pain as she Ipoked at what was after all the accumulation of sixty odd years of Hving. How little she had really known about her aunt, and all that was left of her now was the faded photograph album PhiHppa had decided to keep. She hadn't wanted to come back to Garston, but she had been Jane Cromwell's only living relative. Getting to her feet and dusting down her jeans she bent to pick up one of Simon's motorbike magazines. Her ten-year-old son was motorbike mad at the moment. Even from being quite small he had shown a decidedly mechanical turn of mind. At the moment it was fixed with equal concentration on motorbikes and computers. Thinking of Simon made her glance at her watch and frown. It was gone five and she had told him to be back at four. She planned for them to have an early meal and then leave to go back to London. Where on earth was he? They had only been in Garston for a week but it was long enough for Simon, with his outgoing extrovert nature, to make friends. Several of them had called for him this morning. Unlike herself Simon made friends easily. There must still be people living in the village who re-