Allison pushed her fingers through her hair. Lifting it from her neck, she held it on top of her head with her clasped hands. At nine, she’d ring the solicitor. She debated whether it would be in her interest to hire someone new. Benjamin Brown had been looking after the Fellowes’ legal matters for many years. She’d met him only the once when, on Peter’s insistence, she’d drawn up her own will to leave all she owned to her darling husband. It had been easy; she hadn’t owned anything, had no savings worth talking about and a pension plan unfit for purpose.

On the dot of nine, she dialled the number she’d saved in her phone. It was answered immediately by a voice that was probably assumed to soothe the more irate and demanding of callers. It immediately got under Allison’s skin, making her voice sharper, her tone more insistent.

‘It’s Allison Fellowes; I’d like to speak to Mr Brown.’ She took a breath before forcing a sound she hoped came across as a pathetic sob and not gastric reflux. ‘It’s urgent. My husband…’ A long pause for dramatic effect. ‘He was killed on Friday in a tragic accident.’

The indrawn breath down the line sounded suitably shocked, as did the response. ‘Oh, oh, goodness, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I’ve met Mr Fellowes several times over the years. Always such a pleasant man. Goodness, I’m lost for words.’

People who purported to be lost for words and then kept spouting drivel were a pet hate of Allison’s. But she stuck to her grieving widow role and swallowed her irritation. ‘It’s been a horrendous shock and I’m feeling a little lost.’ Grieving widow, pathetic weak female. Two lying roles, neither of which reflected the real Allison. She’d struggle to maintain them long term, so the sooner probate was settled, the better. ‘I really need to speak to Mr Brown; I know he’ll advise me what to do.’

‘Gosh, yes, of course. He’ll be shocked. Stunned.’ Another indrawn breath. ‘He knew Mr Fellowes’ parents too, of course. This will come as a blow. End of an era, I suppose.’

Allison mouthed, Get on with it, you silly cow. ‘Yes, indeed it is. Is Mr Brown available?’ A heavy hint that fell flat as another sigh shushed down the line.

‘No, I’m so sorry, he’s out of the office until mid-morning. Meeting a client. He sometimes rings before he heads back so if he does, I’ll get him to ring you straight away. Straight away.’ She repeated the words as if it was a major consolation.

Allison, who wanted to slam the phone down in annoyance, settled for, ‘Fine, thank you. As soon as he can, please.’