Carbonel And Calidor

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ROSEMARY guessed it was kippers for breakfast by the smell that tickled her nose when she poked her head through the neck of her sweater. It told her too that she was late, so she ran downstairs, picking up the letters from the door-mat on her way into the kitchen.

‘Two for you,’ she said to her step-father. ‘They’ve both got little windows in them, so I expect they’re only bills. And one for you, Mum.’

‘I hope your letters are nicer than mine,’ said Mr Featherstone to his wife after a pause.

‘I’m pretty sure Rosemary will think so,’ she replied. ‘There’s something inside which I think must be meant for you, dear.’

As she spoke she handed Rosemary a small wad of paper that had been folded over and over so many times that it was not much bigger than a pat of butter. On the outside was a figure 4, and under that was a drawing of a flower, done by someone who was clearly not very good at drawing.

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