Con was icing a cake, inwardly bewailing her lack of artistic ability, when there was a knock on the door. Thanking the heavens for the interruption, she abandoned her apron and answered it.
“Ceridwen! Hello! What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mrs Richardson. Is… where is everyone?”
“Mamma’s having a nap, everyone else went off on a hike,” and Con waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the mountains. “Carey went into Briesau.”
“I’ve got… well, I’m in a bit of a… a quandary.” Ceridwen bit her lip.
“Really? Well, you’d better come and sit down. I did my share of agony-aunting at university.” Con led Ceridwen into the salon, and pushed her down into a chair. “Now, tell me all about it.”
“Say there’s this person you really like. Only they like someone else. And then you find out that the someone else is a bit… well, not right. Do you tell the first person?” Con nodded gravely.
“Ah, that old chestnut. To which the answer is, nobody knows. It’s unlikely to end particularly well either way. Either you get it in the neck for interfering, or you get it in the neck when they found out you knew and *didn’t* tell.”
“So pretty, hopeless, either way. In which case, you have to tell, if you… you care about the first person and don’t want them to be hurt. OK; thanks!” Ceridwen jumped to her feet and was almost at the door when Con’s voice stopped her.
“What have you found out about Peter, dear?”