‘Okay, yes, sorry,’ Paula said, accidentally interrupting, in her haste not to be seen as a stalker or random weirdo. ‘It’s a bit of an odd situation. I’m . . . I’m Frankie’s sister. But she doesn’t even know I exist, so . . .’ She tailed off, feeling as if she was getting this all wrong.

‘Frankie doesn’t have a sister,’ the woman replied tartly. She was sounding more suspicious by the minute. ‘I’m afraid I’m very busy right now. If you want to send an email, kindly do so via the main agency address, it’s on the website.’

‘Wait,’ Paula blurted out, sensing that Constance was about to hang up. ‘I know it sounds weird and you might not believe me. But please could you give her a message, at least, from me? Say it’s Paula from York, Harry Mortimer’s daughter, and that I would love to make contact with her. If you’ve got a pen, I’ll give you my number.’

Even the mm-hmm noises Constance Albright made, as she took down Paula’s details, sounded as if she didn’t trust this unorthodox caller for a minute, but Paula persevered. Whether Constance passed on the message or not, she had tried at least. She’d stretched out a hand across the miles between them. ‘Thank you,’ she said, before hanging up and wondering if her message and number were already being balled up and thrown into the nearest bin.

Her phone bleeped with two new texts moments later and she almost dropped it, fumbling to see if by some miracle this was Frankie contacting her already – Oh my goodness! Paula! Are you really who I think you are? – but the beeps were only the slightly more earthly replies from Dave and then Stephen, one after another, having seen the photo of their parents. Great. Nice one.

Nothing from John, but then he was always a bit crap about texting and communicating in general. She would send the picture to Robyn instead, who was much better at such things, she decided, but just then her phone rang, causing her to have palpitations all over again. But it was only a work call – a new customer wanting a valuation. ‘No problem at all,’ said Paula, switching back into professional mode and perking up when she heard the rather prestigious address of the property. ‘That would be my pleasure. Now let me just check my diary . . .’

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two