I let out a breath and smiled. ‘I am happy. I can’t believe my luck landing on my feet like this.’

‘Well, come on in, then,’ she said impatiently. ‘Can’t stand here chatting all morning. I expect you’ll be wanting a look round your new abode.’

I carried my other suitcase inside and found myself beside a small wooden table and two chairs. I set the case down on the quarry-tiled floor and looked around. The layout was open plan: behind the table was the kitchen area – one short run of units with a sink at one end and a cooker at the other and then further along was an L-shaped sofa on which Starsky had made himself comfy, the smallest log-burner I’d ever seen and a TV. A Henry hoover sat in the middle of the floor, plugged in with its cable trailing from the bedroom. Directly facing the front door was another door through which I could see the end of a double bed. The décor was rustic and functional rather than fancy but the original beams had been retained and the whole place felt homely and inviting.

‘Now it’s only small but it should have everything you need.’

‘I love it,’ I said, unable to keep the squeak from my voice. ‘And it’s twice the size of the flat I lived in in London.’

Betsy opened all the kitchen cupboards in turn to show me where everything was. ‘And I’ve put a few basics in for you, tea and coffee and so on. But you’ll need to shop for meals.’

‘Thank you. I’m tea only at the moment, I’m off coffee recently, I think I probably overdosed at my sister’s. She mainlines the stuff.’

Evie had insisted on sending me off with a shopping bag and a cool box full of essentials, both of which were still in the car. So at least I wouldn’t have to leave the vineyard again today. Today was about getting my bearings, meeting everyone and hopefully, later on, getting a chance to google how on earth one was supposed to look after vines …

‘As long as you haven’t gone off wine,’ said Betsy. ‘Because you won’t be able to escape the smell of that here.’

I shook my head, opting not to tell her I probably couldn’t distinguish a Chardonnay from a Chenin Blanc.

‘Come through to the bedroom,’ she said, leading the way.

The bedroom furniture was heavy and dark: mahogany bed, wardrobe, drawers and an old dressing table with a three-fold tarnished mirror on top of it.

‘My mother’s old stuff,’ said Betsy. ‘Old-fashioned, I know, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. Particularly that dressing table. I spent hours at that going through her make-up and trying on her jewellery. I was always in trouble for tangling her necklaces.’