The doorbell buzzed sharply and Myrtle Parker scurried down the hallway to get it. She had asked her committee members to be there at nine o’clock sharp so she could organise the tea and biscuits before their guest of honour arrived. Most of them had obeyed her instructions, but she was still waiting on Mrs Howard, who had been less than enthusiastic about attending. She swung open the door to find a tall man wearing a very stylish navy suit standing on the porch. He leaned on a polished timber walking stick, its brass handle the head of a handsome-looking hound.

‘Good morning, Major Foxley, and welcome to Winchesterfield,’ Myrtle sparkled. She held out her hand and stared at the man, simply taken aback.

He smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth, and shook her hand. ‘Thank you for having me, Mrs Parker,’ he said, wondering if the woman’s grip was always so firm.

Myrtle sighed. With his tanned complexion and full head of silver hair, the man could have stepped straight out of an old Hollywood film. ‘Please, do come in,’ she said, patting her bouffant curls and straightening her floral skirt. ‘Most of the committee members are here already – well, those who could make it this morning. Unfortunately, several have been detained by work engagements. I told them this was far more important but, for whatever reason, some people are reluctant to put their community commitments first. But you have no worries about that with me.’

The woman ushered him in, then briefly stepped outside to see if there was any sign of Mrs Howard, but she could hardly look past the glistening black Range Rover parked in the driveway. Major Foxley simply exuded elegance, from his immaculate clothing to his impressive vehicle. Myrtle closed the door and turned to the major. She’d noticed he had quite a pronounced limp and stared at the stick in his hand.

He saw her looking at it too. ‘Nothing to worry about, Mrs Parker – just an old war injury. That’s what you get when you save an entire battalion.’

A dreamy look clouded Myrtle’s face as she found herself imagining the man in his battle fatigues, throwing men the size of lumberjacks over his shoulder and spiriting them to safety.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Parker?’ Major Foxley asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ Myrtle said, crashing back to reality. We’re just through here in the sitting room,’ she said, and held out her arm for the man to go ahead of her. ‘Ladies,’ Myrtle fizzed, ‘I’d like you to meet Major Alistair Foxley, Chairman of Chudleigh’s Dog Show.’

There was an audible gasp as the women stood up to greet the man. Major Foxley walked around the room with Myrtle as she introduced each member of the committee to him.

‘This is Mrs Singh. She and her husband own the local curry house,’ Myrtle said.

‘How divine. I love a good curry,’ he purred. Mrs Singh offered her hand, which the man shook gently. But when he tried to take it away, her grip tightened.

‘Indira,’ Myrtle snapped.

The woman released Major Foxley and giggled like a schoolgirl. Myrtle continued around the room, introducing Doreen Smith from the girls’ school, Marta Munz, Evelyn Pepper from Chesterfield Downs, Nancy Mereweather and Deidre Winterbottom, wife of the headmaster of the Fayle School. All of the women seemed to have fallen under some sort of charm spell, and Myrtle made sure to mention several times that, in addition to being Chairman of Chudleigh’s, he was also a decorated war hero.

Alistair Foxley leaned down to give the pristine West Highland terrier at Mrs Winterbottom’s feet a pat. ‘What an adorable little chap,’ he said.

‘His name is Parsley,’ Myrtle chimed. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? A pedigree, I believe. Isn’t that right, Deidre?’

The woman nodded obediently. On past occasions when Parsley had accompanied her, Myrtle Parker had made him sit in the kitchen on a mat. Some days he’d even been relegated to the utility room. He usually wasn’t allowed within cooee of Myrtle’s precious sitting room, but today Parsley had received his own special invitation. Professor Winterbottom had been quite miffed not to be able to take him to the morning’s rugby matches, but Deidre insisted that Myrtle had been very specific that Parsley attend the meeting, and everyone knew that it wasn’t worth upsetting her.

‘Do you have a dog yourself, Mrs Parker?’ the man asked as she showed him to the armchair in the middle of the room.

‘Sadly not,’ she said, handing him a fine china cup and saucer. ‘My Reginald has been unwell for the past few years, so there was just no time for one. I couldn’t bear the thought of not devoting all my energy to a pet – it just wouldn’t be fair.’

Deidre Winterbottom sputtered. It was common knowledge that Myrtle wasn’t at all partial to animals, particularly dogs, but this offer to host Chudleigh’s had seen quite the most remarkable about face in the woman. Deidre glanced over at Nancy Mereweather, who gave her a sly wink. The two women found themselves having to contain a rising fit of giggles.

Myrtle turned and gave them both a stern glare. ‘Whatever’s the problem, Deidre?’

‘Nothing. I was just thinking about something funny that Wallace said to me this morning,’ the woman replied. She recovered her composure and didn’t dare look at anyone for the next few minutes – especially not Mrs Mereweather.

‘Right. Major Foxley, I think we should get on with the business at hand.’ Myrtle produced a clipboard and proceeded to distribute the agenda for the meeting. ‘Item one: Her Majesty’s attendance,’ Myrtle began.

‘Oh dear,’ Nancy Mereweather said with a giggle. ‘I think there’s been a mix-up. Her Majesty is to be the guest of honour at the Quilters’ Exhibition, not Chudleigh’s. I believe Major Foxley will be presenting Best in Show.’ She smiled at the man and chortled.

Myrtle Parker looked up sharply from the agenda. Her face seemed set to explode. Around the room, the women held their collective breaths. ‘Oh, never mind,’ Myrtle said, her face softening as she gazed at Major Foxley. ‘Her Majesty comes to our events all the time. It will be a breath of fresh air to have a man of Major Foxley’s standing among us.’

The committee members eyed each other warily, exhaling in unison just as the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get that,’ Doreen Smith said, jumping up from her seat. She didn’t think Mrs Howard deserved to be on the receiving end of Myrtle’s wrath for being late. Several minutes later Mrs Howard followed Mrs Smith into the room and quietly took her place in the corner.

‘Nice of you to join us, Mrs Howard,’ Myrtle remarked before introducing the woman to their special guest.

‘My apologies, Major Foxley,’ Mrs Howard said. ‘One of my girls was terribly homesick this morning and I couldn’t leave the poor poppet until we’d had a soothing cocoa and some cuddles. Given I won’t be there this evening and her parents are uncontactable, I thought it only fair.’

‘Oh, Mrs Howard, you’re a gem. I wish my boarding mistresses had been as kind and compassionate as yourself. I spent many a year crying myself to sleep,’ the man replied.

‘I’ll give you a hug now if you like, Mr Foxley,’ Marta Munz said cheekily. The other women tittered until Myrtle Parker cast death stares at all of them.

‘You’re a cheeky one, Mrs Munz. I can see I’m going to enjoy working with you lot.’ Alistair laughed. He cleared his throat and the ladies all settled down.

Myrtle was about to resume the meeting when Major Foxley beat her to it.

‘Well, thank you all for agreeing to host Chudleigh’s. It is a huge under taking but one that I am assured by Mayor Wiley that you can not only cope with but will excel at.’ He tapped a shiny gold pen on the notebook he’d just pulled out of his suit pocket and looked expectantly at the group, who stared at the man with the doe-eyed looks of lovestruck teenage girls.