From early adolescence, I had committed myself to joining the seemingly growing legions of women pumping their fists with a can-do spirit and a perfect balance of career and family. I fancied myself a textbook candidate for the League of Female Marvels.until the narcolepsy and nausea set in, and I chickened out. Sacrificing a few rungs on the corporate ladder to stay home and be a Full-Time Mom (FTM) surely would prove a noble, not to mention more orderly, move. And think of all the discretionary time and energy Cue laughter. Except within those rare close-knit and blackmail-toting...

'It's writing which is relaxing but acute, both accessible and profound' Kirkus Reviews

Helen has retreated to the remote north-west coast of Ireland to paint the sea and the shore, and to be alone with her past.
English war hero Roger Hawthorne has settled in the neglected railway station house nearby. Mutilated and sick at heart, with the help of a young lad he has begun painstakingly to restore the derelict branch line station. Soon Roger and Helen form a bond which, over gramophone music, dancing and champagne, deepens into love. But Helen, enjoying her first taste of happiness in years, is to learn just how brutally fleeting it can be.

The Great War is over; but the war in Ireland is only just beginning, as the IRA and the Black and Tans move on to the attack. It all seems very remote to Miranda Martin, during that miraculous Indian summer. Her father, hoping to forget his dead wife, thinks of nothing but his trees; Miranda thinks of the future, a future which must surely include Cathal, who brings news from Dublin. Everything seems calm and serene.
But then Andrew, her officer brother, comes home, bringing his eccentric, likeable friend Harry, and as the Indian summer fades, the scene is set for tragedy.