Miles checked his watch. ‘I’ve got to get going, or I’ll get stuck on the M25.’

‘Use your siren, Alistair. Everyone does. Except me, of course.’

‘Right.’ He stood up and so did Jazz. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I can. And thanks for lunch.’

‘Anytime you’re passing, which, if I have my way, might be quite often.’ She kissed him on the cheek, and took one of his hands in his. ‘Please consider it seriously, won’t you?’

‘Definitely. Bye, Jazz, take care.’

Jazz shut the door, then went to clear the lunch away. As she was pouring the remains of Miles’s wine down the sink, she stared out at the marshes which sprawled in front of the cottage. The tide was rolling in, and in a few hours the intricate waterways and footpaths which snaked through the vast landscape would be completely hidden from view. Jazz smiled, pleased that her new home was both beautiful and emblematic.

As she watched the grey sea begin to distantly intrude upon the green of the marsh, her thoughts turned to Madelaine Smith, a woman as resolute as the tide in completing her task. Hers was a life motivated by a single, terrible purpose, fuelled by the pain and agony of the past.

Jazz’s phone buzzed on the kitchen table, and she picked it up to read a text from Jonathan.

Leaving Cambs now. See you in an hour. X

Jazz had decided that, for now, she was happy to leave the past behind. She was only concerned with the future.

Acknowledgements

I am very grateful to Maria Rejt at Pan Macmillan, whose enormous experience and knowledge of crime fiction assured us that The Murders at Fleat House would provide readers with the thrills and spills which Mum intended. Sincere thanks also go to the wonderful Lucy Hale and Jeremy Trevathan for continuing to champion Lucinda’s work.

As mentioned in the foreword, this novel was written in 2006. At that time, I was thirteen years old, and I can’t possibly begin to guess at who Mum would have wished to thank. Therefore, I will take this opportunity to acknowledge the author herself.

The true testament to Lucinda’s indomitability is the fact that she wrote no fewer than five novels during her illness. What’s more, through The Seven Sisters series, Mum rose to global stardom, and has become one of the world’s most renowned storytellers.

The books, however, were always secondary to her family. Throughout her tragically short life, I do not believe that she ever, once, put herself first. In that, and all respects, Lucinda was the best mum in the world. Her capacity to support, champion, console and motivate her four children was unparalleled.

Thankfully, her enduring wisdom means we all know the great secret to happiness, which Mum would impart to us often, and I feel duty-bound to share it with you now:

Seize the day, live for the moment, and relish every second of life – even the hard parts.