By that time Celia had been tipping towards dementia for some months. There were odd transpositions: a yoghurt pot was put into the oven, a hairbrush into the washing machine. Anyone who came into her path was blamed. Someone has taken my watch, she’d accuse. Someone has stolen my cup. Everything which went missing was someone else’s fault.

But her ability to spot a weakness or a wound was undimmed.

‘Where’s that husband of yours?’ she’d challenge Georgie.

‘In London. He’s working in London,’ Georgie would answer. This was not untrue.

‘I always knew he was a weaselly one,’ said Celia, with some satisfaction.

During the early years of Georgie’s marriage Cass had gone through her architect training and met Adam. Two years after they qualified they’d been married from Stony Hill Farm, the guests – as brightly dressed as parrots – spilling out on to the snowdrop field with their glasses of fizz. Nick had made a speech all about building: building a marriage, building a family, building together. The family part had proved difficult. Cass had had two miscarriages before Skye, and although they’d tried for more children it hadn’t happened. Perhaps this was partly why she’d always spent time at the farm: if she couldn’t produce brothers or sisters for her little daughter, then she could at least reproduce the idyllic conditions of her own childhood. And Adam had got on especially well with both Nick and Celia.

Cass and Adam had settled in Penzance after they each quit the London firms they’d been employed by. Skye had been a toddler then and Cass wanted her daughter to have a childhood like hers, with nearby streams and creeks and woods to scamper in, and the coast. They’d set up their own architectural practice, which consisted mostly of extensions for second home owners. The incomers all wanted big kitchens with islands and bi-fold glass doors and utility rooms for their wetsuits. They’d also worked on a number of boutique hotels in the south-west, which brought in new clients. They made a decent living. When Celia became too unwell to live alone at the farm, they’d carried on their practice from there.

Back in London after her mother’s funeral, Georgie had raised the subject of the farm with her son.

‘What would you feel about Cass taking over Granny and Grandpa’s house?’

‘She’s already taken it over, hasn’t she?’

‘Well, yes. But I mean, it’s been left to us both jointly.’

‘Do you want to share it with her?’

‘God, no. I wouldn’t want to have to have coffee with Adam and Skye every morning.’

‘Well then.’

‘Yes, but what about you? I know you’ve always loved it there.’