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‘Don’t get your breeches in a twist, Stablemaster!’ Cook looked up from her lists as she sat at the table, the tall figure of Derufin looming over her. ‘No “Hello, Cook!” or a “By your leave, Cook”?! Just a demand to know where Mistress Zimzi has gone off to!’

Derufin backed away a few steps. Cook had stood up from her chair with the last sentence, and hands on hips, one foot tapping, was glaring at the man. He grinned shamefacedly at her. She reminded him of his own ma when he was a much younger lad . . . expecting his best manners no matter the situation. He gave a small bow and rephrased his question.

‘Mistress Bunce, I saw Zimzi going off in a cart with Merrimac. Could you tell me where she’s going?’ Derufin cocked one eye at Cook to see if she had softened.

Buttercup had by this time come into the kitchen and both of them he found, as he straightened up, were laughing at him. ‘She’s not been kidnapped, you great ninny! If that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Buttercup. ‘You asked to us to keep her from the cottage for a while,’ continued Cook. ‘I’ve sent her to a friend of mine’s burrow in Hobbiton. She’ll be quite busy there . . . doing a variety of things to get ready for the festivities.’

It was Derufin’s turn to laugh now. ‘And here I thought you would keep her occupied in the Inn.’ He sat down at the table and told the two Hobbits the garden he had contracted the young woman of Bree to do. Leaning across the table as he finished his explanation, he asked, in a hopeful tone, would Zimzi be coming back to the Inn at night.

Cook shook her head and smiled sympathetically at him. ‘Think of it this way, my dear . . . absence makes the heart grow fonder . . .’

With a long face, Derufin took his leave of the two Hobbits and went out to finish his meal . . .