The day of the funeral dawned dark and dismal. Going in search of Sunday, Cissie found her standing by the window in the drawing room, staring out across the lawns. Approaching her quietly, she laid her arm gently across her shoulders. Sunday smiled – a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I was just picturing Tom and me down there on the lawn on the evening of our wedding day, dancing in the moonlight,’ she said huskily. As yet she hadn’t shed a single tear since the terrible day Tom had died, but Cissie knew her well enough to know that when they did finally come, they would be hard to stop.

‘It were a grand day, all right,’ Cissie said, in a wobbly voice. ‘I can still see you both now with all the lanterns that were strung in the trees and the moon shinin’ down on you. You looked like a fairy princess in your beautiful gown and Tom looked like the happiest man on earth. It’s a precious memory that no one can ever take away from you; you must hang on to that.’

And then they saw the black hearse approaching down the drive, coming to collect Tom, who had been lying in the day room in his coffin. She said sadly, ‘Come on, pet, it’s almost time to go.’

Without a word, Sunday turned and followed her from the room.

It was with relief some hours later that Cissie escorted the last of the mourners to the front door, leaving only the solicitor who had stayed to read Tom’s will to the family.

Sunday was waiting for him in the drawing room along with Ben, Livvy and Kathy.

Cissie turned towards Mr Dixon and, without a word, led him into the room, then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

‘Before I begin, may I offer my condolences to you all?’ Mr Dixon said quietly, as he rummaged in his briefcase and produced Tom’s will. ‘Mr Branning was a true gentleman and I know he will be sorely missed by all that knew him. I have never seen so many people attend a funeral before. But now, down to business.’

He cleared his throat and began. ‘This is the last will and testament of Thomas Branning. It is all very straightforward, short and to the point, but should you have any questions, please feel free to interrupt me.’

Ben leaned forward in his seat.

‘To Cissie and George Jenkins, my long-term friends, I leave the cottage in the grounds in which they have resided for many years, with my thanks for their friendship, loyalty and support. To my only son, Ben, I leave my gold Hunter pocket watch. To my two beautiful daughters I leave all my love always. Treetops, the business, and all the rest of my worldly goods I leave to my beloved wife, Sunday Branning.’