It should do. In the end, I’d borrowed money from my cousin Brian in South Korea for a newly painted frontage and a complete internal overhaul, as well as the hanging sign, Old Nick’s, above the front door. Inside, the shop has been divided into units for rent, so I can get several sellers under one roof. Sophie Child and Pat of Honeysuckle Farm have a unit with a shop window each, where they can create and display their wares. Sophie has already set up her easels with beautiful watercolours. But EB’s portrait sits in pride of place, a sign proclaiming Pet Portraits displayed underneath.

She and Pat have both been evicted from the market, Pat because the coven at the Art and Antiques Bazaar managed to persuade the management that she didn’t belong there; Sophie because she could no longer afford the rent. She won’t pay me any rent either, neither will Pat, an exchange for taking it in turns to open and close the shop each day and making sure one of them is always there to deal with customers. It also means that I can still carry on with my regular clients, fitting my time in the shop around being a Domestic Goddess. It should work.

Pat has taken the idea of the Victorian panorama I showed her and made it her own. The interiors she has painted are not of Victorian sitting rooms, but of blue skies, green fields and little farmhouses. Her peg dolls are dressed as shepherds with woolly beards. She’s knitted hedges, she’s knitted gorgeous little sheep, she’s even knitted trees. More than one of the craft shops in Ashburton have offered to sell them for her, but these country panoramas remain exclusive to Old Nick’s.

I’ve taken over the old storeroom for my stuff: small items of furniture, collectables and bric-a-brac. The other units are currently empty, but I’ve had enquiries, so I’m hopeful. I’m never going to make any money out of Old Nick’s, but I’ll be happy if, eventually, it doesn’t cost me any.

I haven’t decided what to do about the flat yet, but I certainly won’t be living in it, not in the foreseeable, anyway. I’d been quietly thinking about this and realised that Morris was still proffering the plate of sandwiches. ‘Are you all right, Juno?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes thanks.’ I selected a salmon and cucumber.

‘No,’ he said, peering at me anxiously over his specs. ‘I mean, are you really all right, after everything that’s happened?’

I smiled at him. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’