‘Ralph told me,’ Mimi had replied.

‘But how did he know?’ I had asked.

‘He worked it out. I asked Granville and he ummed and ahed and admitted it.’

‘That explains why she didn’t ski in Gstaad, then!’ I had cried. ‘Is that why they’re getting married?’

‘Rose, don’t ask me. Why does anyone get married?’ Mimi replied, slightly testily, I thought.

After the shock had worn off about the Post Office, everyone was doing a fine job of mourning openly with the Hitchens, and saying that they couldn’t imagine anyone else in the shop, and they simply couldn’t believe it, knowing full well that in a few months’ time, the Hitchens would be gone and nobody would be giving the Stores a moment’s thought. Because life moves on.

We were all secretly feeling guilty that this wouldn’t have happened if we had all done more shopping there, rather than whizzing off to Waitrose in Godminster, when Cath pipes up, having given her Breguet another meaningful look, accompanied by a tiny, decisive tap. ‘Guys, can we get going?’ she says, in her sunny-side-up way. ‘Have you all got drinks, somewhere to sit? Fabulous. Why don’t you two’ – she gestures to the grey-curled matrons – ‘sit here. Now, here’s where I’m at with this. We don’t need to accept the decision from on high that the post office has got to close. This is nothing to do with government. This is about community. What I say is, we can do it for ourselves.’ She then produces a colour-coded folder from an LL Bean canvas holdall with her initials on it, as I reflect that, true to form, the woman in the village who already ran three large houses, four children, a husband, a farm and a farm shop and is planning a strictly bridal wedding in May is the one to volunteer for yet more selfless civic duty. ‘I’ve spoken to the CEO of the, er, Village Retail Services Association,’ she continues. ‘This is how it would work.’

Cath then explains, with admirable and blessed concision, how the Honeyborne Post Office and Stores could be converted into a community-owned village shop and retain all the Post Office functions, and indeed its counter and hatch, for at least two hours a day most weekdays.

We are all stunned. What Cath outlines is so simple, and so obvious. Why did none of us think of it before? There are a few questions, such as how many shifts will be needed, whether shiftwork will be paid out of profit or a community sub, questions about local suppliers, organic suppliers, food miles, accounting, and so on, but otherwise, nothing seems to stand in the way of the shop remaining open other than traditional, good old-fashioned English apathy.