Ruby swiftly downed the last of her beer and picked up her handbag. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said in delight.

Ron quietly sat in the corner of the bar with the dogs slumped at his feet and watched the two women working in harmony behind the bar. They made a pretty picture, he mused, noting how Ruby was like a younger, darker-haired version of his Rosie as she smiled, pulled pints and chattered to the customers. She was more than capable of taking over the reins from Rosie, and although Ron knew she’d have her work cut out at times, she would make a success of this new venture.

The minute he returned from walking the dogs on Tuesday morning, Ron found himself being chivvied back outside to walk with Rosie to Havelock Road. She’d been to the estate agency and collected the keys to the property she’d thought she’d never have the chance to buy.

‘To be sure, I can’t see the need for all this rush,’ he grumbled, having to keep pace with her. ‘And why are we coming here? I thought you were after that house up by the Memorial?’

‘I realised it’s far too big, and has been empty too long,’ she replied. ‘A developer’s put in an offer for it anyway and will probably tear it down to build a couple of dozen houses on the site. This one’s far more practical, and they’ve dropped the price for a quick sale.’

She came to an abrupt halt and looked up at the detached house on the corner of Havelock Road and the High Street, which had escaped the devastation of the V-2 that had flattened Doris’s house and the three at the other end of the cul-de-sac.

The early Victorian house was set back from the pavement and faced Havelock Gardens which were only just returning to their full beauty after being used as a communal vegetable plot during the war. The back of the house overlooked the end of the promenade and the sea.

‘How come this place is for sale?’ Ron asked, frowning up at the roof which needed fixing and the windows which looked as if they were about to fall out. A wisteria had gone berserk all over the front of it and was entangled in rampant ivy which was making its way under the roof tiles and dragging the guttering down. The rotting garage door was leaning drunkenly on one hinge, and the driveway shingle had been all but washed away by the years of heavy rain and neglect.

‘The owners left before the war and decided they wanted to stay in Devon,’ Rosie replied, leading the way up the short drive to the front door. ‘The asking price is very fair, but I’m sure I can beat them down, for they’re keen to be rid of it and it does need a bit of work.’

‘To be sure, it’s more than a bit of work.’ Ron followed her gloomily into the house which was a mirror image of the one Doris had owned, but smelled damp and musty from being empty for so long. There was a cloakroom, dining room and staircase leading off from the hall, the kitchen and scullery were at the back and the sitting room with its large picture window looked down on an overgrown and tangled garden to the sea.