Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply. For Tess, who inadvertently gave me the idea.

"Terrific." Tommy Lynley shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket as they walked towards the pub. "Sorry, Barbara, you were saying?"

"Is everything alright, Sir?"

Tommy inhaled slowly. "Yes, fine. Mrs Shepherd has shingles."

Havers frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Why?"

"Because whoever she is, her illness seems to have distressed you."

"Only because Mrs Shepherd helps Mother during the invasion."

Her frown became a smile. "Norman, Spanish or German?"

"Pardon?"

"Who's invading?"

"Oh. Yes, I see. Every year Mother takes in nine children for a week. They're from three families whose fathers were killed in a nasty farm accident."

"On your estate?"

Tommy held open the pub door and allowed her to squeeze past. He followed her to the bar. "A pint of ale and a pint of IPA, please. No, it was on a farm that was sold off by my great-grandfather to pay death duties in the 1920s. Four years ago a harvester rolled and killed three men. So Mother takes the children for a week while their mothers get a well-earned break. We pay of course. This year they are going to Paris."

"Paris? That's very generous."

"Least we can do. Anyway, Mrs Shepherd helps Mother manage the children. Now Mother wants me to go down and assist her."

"When?" They took their drinks slid into their favourite booth.

"Tomorrow. After three long months working almost every day, we finally get a week off, and now instead of spending time in London catching up on things, I have to drive down to Cornwall."

"Such a hard life. At least you get to do something. Cheers," she said as she took a sip.

"Cheers. I thought you were going to go to Whitby."

"I was, but then I needed to pay unexpected bills, and last week I had to have my boiler changed. So I will stay put and catch up on my housekeeping."

Tommy had a wonderful idea, at least wonderful for him. "I don't suppose I could tempt you to spend a week in Cornwall helping to babysit?"

"So you can get out of it? Not on your life."

"I wouldn't do that to you. Of course, I would go too."

"How old are they?"

Tommy tried not to show any emotion. A misplaced smile would make her dig in her heels. "The eldest would be about twelve or thirteen now. The youngest would be about three. He was born after his father died."

"That's sad. So, if I did go, and I'm not saying I will, what would I have to do?"

Tommy looked up and this time could not conceal his smile. "Not much. We take them hiking and riding, play games and feed them. They eat like an army marching twenty miles a day."

She drank her beer slowly. He could almost hear the cogs turning. "I don't ride, but I do eat."

"I know." He ignored her steely eyes. "Fancy dinner while we're here?"

She smiled, and he knew he had won that point. "Yeah, ta. Are you sure your mother won't mind an extra guest?"

"She'll be very grateful. Does that mean you'll come?"

Barbara sat and watched him for several seconds. "Yeah, but only for the free holiday."

Tommy grinned at her. "I hope you won't regret it."

"So do I."

After an early start, they arrived just before lunch. Dorothy was on the front lawn surrounded by several screaming children and three barking dogs, all chasing a ball.

"Oh, Tommy, thank god! They've only been here an hour, and I'm already done in."

"I brought reinforcements."

Barbara stepped from the car and was enveloped in a huge hug from Dorothy. "I hope my son told you what to expect."

"I can see why you wanted help. They seem full of energy. I'm happy to help Lady Asherton."

"Call me Dorothy or Daze, Barbara. All the children are calling me Auntie Daze."

"Okay… Dorothy." Barbara felt mildly uncomfortable. She hoped Tommy would not see it as a sign that she was about to call him by his name because she had no intention of that.

"Barbara has a knack with children."

Dorothy turned to Barbara and winked. "I know. She works with you."

Tommy pulled their bags from the boot. "Come on. We had better get settled then come back and do our duty." He almost spat the last word, and Barbara felt the tension between mother and son.

"She meant it as a joke," she said as they walked into the house.

"No, she didn't. It was a snide dig. There's a lot you don't know about our relationship and no need for you to get involved."

"Sorry, Sir." She was beginning to regret coming.

Tommy stopped and dropped their bags on the parquetry. "No, I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant. Mother and I are slowly rebuilding our relationship, but we still have unresolved issues with each other. Both justified, but hard to overcome. I don't want you feeling awkward because of it or feeling that you have to take my side."

"What makes you think I would take your side?"

"Because... very droll."

Barbara put her hand on his arm. "It'll be fine. Which room am I in?"

"The one up here, next to mine."

The cook had arranged for lunch to be served on the lawn. A trestle table held a smorgasbord of delights. Barbara was as keen as the children to sample the chicken nuggets, party pies and cocktail frankfurts. "These are good," she told the cook as she smothered some sweet potato wedges with sour cream.

"You seem to be fitting in," Tommy said as he wandered over. "This is Joe. You're three aren't you Joe?" The boy in his arms nodded. "This is Auntie Barbara." Joe tucked his face into Tommy's shoulder.

"Hello, Joe. Do you like wedges? I like wedges. Do you want one?"

A shy hand reached out and accepted the wedge which disappeared into his mouth to the accompaniment of a mumbled thanks.

A girl ran up. "I'll take Joe, Uncle Tommy."

Tommy handed him over. "Auntie Barbara, this is Joe's sister, Emily."

"Pleased to meet you, Emily."

The girl nodded and giggled. "Are you Uncle Tommy's new girlfriend?"

Colour rushed to Barbara's cheeks. "No. We work together. I'm a policewoman." Her statement was partly a warning.

Emily nodded then looked away. "Come on, Joe."

When they were out of earshot, Barbara raised one eyebrow. "Auntie Barbara and Uncle Tommy? Makes us sound like pensioners from Sheffield."

Tommy laughed. "Why Sheffield?"

"Because it's ordinary and working class."

"I never thought you'd accuse me of that! Do you mind? Mother started the aunt and uncle thing when they first came here."

"No. Not at all. So what happens now? Do we get three each for the afternoon or something?"

"Can you manage four? We'll leave Joe with Mother, but I thought we could take the others for a walk along the cliffs."

Barbara watched the children running and playing. "Might be dangerous with this lot."

"I like to live dangerously."

Barbara tried hard to ignore his eyes. She hoped he had not seen her face blushing earlier at the suggestion she was his girlfriend. She felt even hotter now.

"Alright, the last one back has to help Auntie Barbara with the washing up." Sixteen feet scrambled down the hill towards Howenstowe. "They sound like the Scots charging at Culloden," Tommy remarked.

"How come I get to do the washing up?"

"Mother created a roster of duties. Be thankful you don't have to lug out the garbage and clean the bathrooms."

"She's making you do that?" Barbara could not help but smirk.

"So it seems."

"I did get off lightly then. I don't mind. Do you have a dishwasher?"

Tommy laughed and shook his head. "Yes."

"They're great kids. They enjoyed the walk and listening to your stories about pirates and treasure in the caves. It's good for them to have a father figure for a few days."

Tommy put his arm around her shoulder. "I hadn't thought about that. I suppose it is important for them to have male role models."

"Speaking of which, you should teach Mark to shave."

"Me?"

Barbara gave him one of her serious, this-is-not-a-joke expressions. "Well, you can't expect his mother to do it as well as someone who does it every day. His face is covered in small nicks. He's nearly fourteen, and his beard will only get thicker and harder to manage. He needs help now."

Tommy gave her a quick hug into his armpit. "Yes, Auntie Barbara. I'll take him aside after dinner and arrange something for the morning. Any other advice?"

"You might also want to think about a birds and bees chat with him."

"What?" He shook his head. "No. I remember how that went with my father. I won't subject the poor lad to that. His mother can handle that one."

Barbara lowered her eyes and peered at him as if over the top of glasses. "It's important he hears from a man about respecting women."

"I thought you believed I was a womanising cad?"

"I don't believe you would ever mistreat a woman."

"No, of course not, but..."

"Boys need to be told more than just the technicalities, Uncle Tommy. They need to understand how to respect women. We see the consequences of misogyny too often in our work."

Tommy grunted. "Yes, but I'm not the best one to do it. Anyway, I never could figure out how the birds and bees fitted in."

Barbara tried hard not to smile. He was flustered, and she liked this less confident, vulnerable side of him. "Well, the bees carry the pollen and deposit it deep inside the flower…"

He waved his hand. "Yes, thank you, Barbara, I am getting the idea."

Barbara began to sing. "And that's why birds do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it. Let's fall in love."*

They turned and looked at each other before both blushed a dark red. "It's a song," Barbara said hurriedly before changing the subject. "Brittany is a bit overwhelmed. She seems very shy."

"She took her father's death very hard." Tommy let his arm slip down Barbara's back. He paused at her waist before removing it completely. "I think that one is more in your domain."

"I knew you'd say that."

* Cole Porter, Let's Do It, 1928