A peck on the cheek and I wave my Master off, his BMW gliding away down the curve of the drive to the gate.
Right…
Household accounts…
High time I took hold of the reins…
Should be plenty waiting for me…
A brief stop off in the kitchen for coffee, then mug in hand, I wend my way through to the household office next door, once the province of Mrs Martin, the housekeeper, now claimed as my own.
But in the office, the desktop is clear and the in-tray, which should by now be stacked with mail, is empty.
I tug at drawers…
Locked…
Cupboard doors… Locked…
Filing cabinet… Also, freakin’ well locked…
locked…And I"ve had enough.
enough.Opening up the contact on my mobile, I wait, foot tapping, but as the line connects, it clicks, then… This is Catherine Martin. I’m not available right no
