‘I simply couldn’t believe it,’ Cilla was saying plaintively. ‘I told them what had happened and how dreadful everything was, and they said nothing. Just looked at each other. Not a word of sympathy or concern.’

‘Do you think they already knew?’ Rosina asked, but Cilla shook her head.

‘No, they were obviously surprised. Then Sir Malcolm said he supposed that Mr Duchard was staying at the Rose and Crown, and she said, “Of course, you’ll call on him, my dear, and ask him to come to dinner.”’ She shook her head. ‘When I heard that I was stunned. I waited for Jon to say something, to point out how upsetting that would be for us, but he never spoke. Just stared at the carpet.’

Ginny said quietly, ‘You’ll find, Cilla, that Jonathan generally agrees with his mother.’

Her sister turned to stare at her, sudden malice glinting in her blue eyes. ‘Not always. If he did, you’d be engaged to him instead of me. I’m sure the Welburns had you down as the daughter-in-law of choice, so it was hard luck for all of you when I came back and Jonathan decided he preferred me.’

‘Darling,’ Mrs Charlton said reproachfully. ‘That’s not very kind.’

‘Nor is it true,’ Ginny said quietly. ‘Jonathan and I had a few casual dates, nothing more.’

Cilla tossed her head. ‘That’s certainly not what Hilary Godwin says. She’s been telling people you were crazy about him.’

Ginny shrugged. ‘Hilary dated him too for a while. Maybe she has her own agenda. But that’s unimportant. So let’s get down to brass tacks.’ She drew a breath. ‘I think we, not the Welburns, should be the ones inviting Andre Duchard to dinner.’

Her mother gasped. ‘You must be quite mad. Do you want us to become the laughing stock of the neighbourhood?’

‘On the contrary,’ Ginny returned with energy. ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. If we’re to maintain any sort of credit locally, we have to accept what’s happened with as good a grace as we can manage. Accept Andrew’s chosen heir.’

She listened to the shocked silence, then nodded. ‘So tomorrow, I’ll leave a note for him at the Rose and Crown. Nothing formal, but not kitchen sups either. And we’ll invite the Welburns too. Make it an extended family occasion, and hopefully score a few points.’

She turned to her mother. ‘And we can’t play ostrich about the future, so I’ll also call at Mr Hargreaves’s office and get the key to the cottage. Have a preliminary look round and make a list of anything that needs to be done.’

‘You’re taking a lot upon yourself,’ Rosina said sharply.

‘Someone has to,’ said Ginny. ‘And now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll take my sandwich up to my room. It’s been a hell of a day, and I have a letter to write.’

As she closed the door behind her, she heard Cilla say furiously, ‘Well, really...’

She went first to Andrew’s study to get a sheet of notepaper from his desk. The envelopes were at the back of the drawer, but as she reached for them, her fingers grasped something bulkier.

My God, she thought in self-derision, as she pulled it towards her. Is this the moment I find a new will and all our problems are solved?

But what she’d discovered, in fact, was a map of France’s Burgundy region. And no need to wonder why it was here, hidden away.

She stared down at it for a long moment, fighting her curiosity with resentment. Telling herself it was of no interest to her where Andre Duchard came from, even as she opened the map and spread it on the desk.

And found Terauze, heavily circled in black, jumping out at her. Saw too that the map itself was beginning to tear at the creases, evidence of heavy use. All those trips abroad, she thought, dismissed airily by her mother as ‘more boring business’. As some of them must have been, because the company order books were always full.

She’d once asked Rosina, ‘Hasn’t Andrew ever asked you to go with him?’

Her mother had shrugged evasively. ‘My dear child, it’s just one meeting after another. He’s far better on his own.’

And so, of course, was Rosina with her golf lessons, her bridge friends, and her ladies luncheon club in nearby Lanchester, Ginny had mused drily.

But, under the circumstances, Andrew probably preferred to keep his secret, and encouraged his wife to stay at home.

But surely he must have realised the devastating effect the eventual revelation would have? Ginny argued. Or didn’t he care?

No, she thought, I don’t believe that for a minute. Because he was a kind, dear man, and taking on a widow and her two daughters must have been quite an enterprise. So what changed?

With a sigh, she looked back at the map. Burgundy, she mused.

Producing wine and Dijon mustard, and also, apparently, Andre Duchard. But if he was indeed Linnet Farrell’s son, as Mrs Pel thought, how had she fetched up there?

So many questions for which she would probably never find answers. And she would be better employed in trying to establish better relations.