Celia Pomeroy pressed the intercom. ‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Pomeroy?’ Whoever was at the front gate sounded cheerful. Celia wished she could muster such bonhomie. ‘It’s Rebecca. From Landscape Cleaners?’

‘Lands…? Oh are you here about our aspect?’ Thank heavens, she thought. Hosting Gerald’s financiers would be hell enough without the right view. It was why they bought the place after all.

‘That’s right. We will soon have you ship shape and visually credible.’

‘Come In. Do you want to drive round the back and I’ll show you want we need.’ The girl, Rebecca was it, had better be as good as she’d heard. Pulling on her sou’wester and heavy duty wellingtons Celia headed for the back of the house.

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