‘Come on, then. I’ll show you what needs to be done. There’s some sandpaper on the sideboard there.’

‘You mean he’s got the job?’ Angie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

‘I can’t see how I’m going to find anybody else,’ Eleanor said to Angie. ‘Christ, as long as he can follow simple instructions, he’ll be fine. It’s not rocket science.’ She smiled but it wasn’t what Granfer would have called an honest smile.

‘Angie, could you start upstairs and work down? I’m going to take a moment to sit down with a magazine as soon as I’ve got Jago going on the fence and it would be lovely to have a bit of peace and quiet.’

‘No problem. I’ll quickly change my shoes, get my stuff and head up.’

But Eleanor had turned away before she finished the sentence.

‘Come on then, Jago,’ she called as she walked away from them. ‘Let’s put you to work.’

‘Did you smell her?’ Jago whispered. ‘Jesus. She must have had a skinful last night.’

‘Shush.’ Angie’s eyes widened and she swallowed a laugh as she batted him on the arm. ‘She’ll hear.’

‘Hear what?’ The voice came from behind them.

Angie’s heart stopped and she looked around to see Max Davenport standing in the doorway through to the kitchen.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’ She glanced at her son who didn’t seem remotely worried about the possibility of having been overheard. ‘Jago, love.’ She grabbed the packet of sandpaper from the sideboard and thrust it out towards him. ‘Go out and join Mrs Davenport.’

Angie smiled briefly at Max Davenport and eased past him into the kitchen then hurried through to the utility room. She bent down, trying to work out the likelihood of Max Davenport having heard them, and opened the cleaning cupboard. She reached in for the bag she kept at the back and the plastic box of cleaning products, willing Max Davenport to walk away.

‘We haven’t been formally introduced. You must be Angie.’ She turned and looked up to see him approaching her with his hand outstretched. ‘Max Davenport. I understand you’re the angel who swoops in and makes our house gleam before we arrive each weekend.’

She stood and reached into the bag for her indoor slippers, which she placed on the worktop.

‘I’m not sure about being an angel, but, yes, I’m the one that cleans your house, Mr Davenport.’

‘Max.’

Angie unzipped her pixie boots, grey suede with a pointed toe and a small heel, then slipped them off and put them in her bag.