Harry exchanged a look with his brother. A sadistic smile spread across Dominic’s face. He looked down at the dogs and gave a swift kick to one of them, catching her bottom. The dog yelped. ‘Now fuck off,’ said Dominic, holding his arm outstretched. He hustled the dogs out through the patio doors. ‘Jesus, they get on my nerves. They must be the most pampered pooches in the county.’

‘I forgot what a compassionate soul you were,’ said Harry. ‘You’d better not let Mum see you do that.’

Dominic gave a shrug. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, walking over to the drinks tray on the walnut sideboard. ‘I wasn’t sure if we’d actually see you.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’ Harry settled himself in the wing-backed armchair by the fireplace, a favourite spot of his late father’s. Max Sinclair had always sat in that seat and woe betide anyone who had dared occupy it. Harry rested his hands on the arms and mentally gave his father a two-fingered salute. He hoped the old bastard could see him now and that he was turning in his grave.

Dominic paused with a bottle of gin in his hand and turned to give his brother a reproachful look. ‘You really need me to spell it out? How many times have you been back to the estate since Elizabeth’s accident?’

‘I’ve been busy in France,’ said Harry, noting the uneasy roll his stomach gave.

Dominic made a scoffing noise as he returned to mixing himself a G&T. He gestured with the bottle to Harry, who shook his head. Dominic sat down on the sofa with his drink. ‘I’ll tell you how many times … three. Christmas two years ago and twice for Mum’s birthday.’

‘I’m a dutiful son,’ said Harry. ‘Like I said, I’ve been busy. Anyway, I’m here now for the grand reopening. What’s the problem?’

Harry knew what the problem was but acting ignorant somehow gave him an excuse, if only to himself. Of course, everyone knew what the real reason was for his absence but for the most part they skirted around it. Dominic, however, appeared to want to buck the trend. Harry eyed his older brother as he rested his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped around the crystal-cut tumbler.

‘Mum misses you,’ began Dominic. ‘She worries about you.’

‘She doesn’t need to,’ said Harry. ‘I’m a grown man in my thirties; I don’t need my mother clucking round me. In fact, I don’t need anyone worrying about me.’

‘Bit of a selfish attitude,’ said Dominic, swigging the G&T down.

‘She worries unnecessarily. It’s suffocating. Why do you think I moved to France?’