More reviews after this extract from Chapter Two ....

Dangan House, when he first caught sight of it, was utterly lovely. The gate was white-painted and unpretentious, set back a little from the road. The lodge, which was really a small house, was two-storied and covered in soft green Virginia creeper. There were delightful flower-beds before the lodge door, with tulips and forget-me-nots in bloom, and a light railing separating its little garden from the driveway. He did not need Barne's explanation that this was Germaine's house. A middle-aged woman in a white apron came out and opened the gate, and they drove through.

On either side of the drive, the parkland sloped gently upward. Oak trees were dotted here and there with careful artistry. Miles could not help thinking with infinite affection and respect of the visionary who had planted those trees, like walking-sticks, so long ago.

Half-way along the drive he asked Barne to stop for a moment and switch off the engine. He wanted to listen to the silence, so still at first, but then full of bird-calls and the bleating of sheep and lowing of cattle. Presently he pointed into the distant flelds and asked:

"Do I see deer over there?"

"Jersey cattle," said Barne. "Cousins to deer. They are yours, too. I forgot to mention them. Sir Miles always kept about forty of them."

It was many, many years since there had been a cow in Miles's family. His bliss was now complete.

When they reached the house a few minutes later, he was surprised to find that it was built of cut limestone. It was L-shaped, and only two stories high. Around to the right he could see flower gardens and lawns. The drive went on past the house on the left, but the car turned in on to a wide gravel sweep before the door. There were wide stone steps and a heavy door of Irish oak. He was pleased to find the arms of the Cogans, with the motto, carved above the lintel. The windows were broad and low and sunny, and the air was exquisitely scented with earth and grass and flowers.

Before they could reach the door, it was opened by a woman whom he took to be Mrs. Hooper. His heart sank at the sight of her, and he wondered how Barne had managed to convey a vision of a fat, motherly woman who would knit bed-socks for his birthday. The sad reality was thin in lumps, he thought, the way no one has a right to be thin. She looked soured with life, though just now she was trying to be pleasant. Her black dress and grey-streaked hair were neat but uninspired. Miles sighed a little as he answered her little speech of welcome.