‘It’s a hobby for all of us and we love it, which is why we volunteer here,’ said Godfrey. ‘Since Ted became ill, we’ve all done extra hours, willingly. But with the grapes starting to grow, we need someone to take charge. Ten acres is a big area to manage, especially for me with my dodgy hip, and without Ted we can’t cope. And perhaps – and this is in no way an insult – you can’t cope either. Lottie, or whoever we recruited,’ he added swiftly, ‘would be able to help with some household chores.’

‘Godfrey Hallam,’ said Betsy imperiously, ‘I am a strong capable woman.’

‘We know that,’ said Marjorie, ‘but you’ve also got macular degeneration. Without Ted, who’s going to read letters for you, or pay bills, or tell the difference between cheese sauce and custard?’

‘That happened once, when I had a cold and couldn’t smell it,’ Betsy snapped.

‘You’re going to have to accept help,’ said Roger firmly.

‘No.’ Betsy folded her arms and pressed her lips together, glaring at her three friends as if daring them to say another word.

The team seemed to be no closer to convincing her that she needed a member of staff at all. I glanced at my watch. The interview hadn’t begun yet and I was beginning to doubt that there’d even be one. It had been too good to be true after all: an outdoor role with its own accommodation … Oh well, back to the drawing board. It was only day one of my job hunt. I let out a sigh, which had the unintentional effect of reminding everyone that I was still here.

‘Lottie,’ said Marjorie, smiling kindly at me. ‘You’ve been woefully neglected. Roger, pass the lass a chair and let her tell us a bit about herself.’

Roger sprang up and found me a stool from underneath the desk.

‘Sorry about all this,’ he whispered under his breath as he set it down close to Marjorie’s wheelchair but a little way away from Betsy who had now turned away under the pretence of sifting through the papers on the desk, although by all accounts, it seemed unlikely that she could read much.

‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a seat.

‘The parish magazine deliveries only started this morning,’ said Marjorie, stroking the mole on her chin absentmindedly. ‘You applied very promptly for a job which we’d advertised with an immediate start date.’

‘That’s right,’ I said, deciding not to mention that it was in fact my sister who’d stitched me up like a proverbial kipper.

‘Which would lead me to conclude that you’re in need of somewhere to live and work.’ She smiled encouragingly at me.

‘The sooner the better,’ I agreed.

Betsy didn’t look up. ‘That’s all we need,’ she muttered. ‘Some desperado.’