Now in our eighties, we keep telling each other that it is time we moved out of our large house into Marjorie's dream cottage. The size and the stairs are becoming too much for us. But where, we ask, would all the books go – we still refer to them from time to time. Marjorie no longer makes clothes professionally but she still keeps in touch with her sewing machine and all the paraphernalia that go with bringing designs to life. Then there is the computer and its surrounding station, the television and music centre, all of which are spread out in the all-purpose studio. The Yamaha Grand would fill the whole of the living space and we would have to give up our favourite part of the garden. We are still thinking. But occasionally the house asserts itself when the sitting room, at the persuasion of friends like Joy Samake and Kitty Fadlu-Deen, is transformed into a small concert hall – the best in the city, Joy declares – and a young recitalist thrills a small audience with an evening at the piano. Marjorie herself still recalls on the instrument some of the pieces she once played so well.