‘We’re very sorry.’ She touches my arm. Why do people do that to widows? It doesn’t make them feel any better, trust me. ‘Thank you. That’s why I’m going back to London. We had such big plans for this house,’ I say. ‘It would have made a lovely family home.’ She’s a publisher and he’s a lawyer up from Hertfordshire and they’re looking for a weekend place where they can entertain. Helmshill Grange would be perfect for them. At least, I’ll make them think it is. Actually, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to take on a place this size as a second home. But isn’t that the trend these days? I’ve taken the precaution of locking Hamish in one of the small outhouses. One that I’ll have to remember not to show the Finnegans. I thought he might have been howling the place down like the Hound of the Baskervilles, but there’s not a peep from him. That should worry me, but it doesn’t, so intent am I on flogging my house. Mr and Mrs Finnegan take in the dilapidated kitchen.
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