With regard to the cottage, things appeared to be complicated, as there was no will in evidence. Mrs Barley had told me that she had no living family, and we knew no more than the fact that she hailed from a small village in Dorset. Apart from Bob, no one that we were aware of had ever visited her in all the time that we had lived in Avoncote, and it begged the question of what would become of her possessions.

But a solicitor’s letter arriving a few days after her death left us completely stupefied. Some months earlier, Mrs Barley, confirmed to be of sound mind, had contacted a local legal firm to express her last wishes. Apart from a small pecuniary bequest to Bob for his loyalty over the years, we were the only other named beneficiaries of Mrs Barley’s entire estate.

At first, we were in denial, feeling that someone was sure to come out of the woodwork to say that there had been a terrible mistake; that she had a long-lost niece or a nephew with a legitimate claim to all her worldly goods. But a visit from tall, poker-thin Mr Lewis, the kindly, slightly harassed-looking solicitor dealing with her affairs, confirmed that the document was indeed legitimate and that, since the majority of what she had left seemed to be tied in with Rose Cottage and its contents, there were a few formalities to be completed at their end before everything could be finalised.

We sat around our dining table, staring in disbelief at the document Mr Lewis placed before us. I noticed his eyes scanning the room and wondered if he thought we could probably benefit from a little financial assistance.

‘Mrs Barley plainly thought very highly of you both,’ he had told us. ‘She told Mr Brain, my colleague, that you were quite the nicest young people she had ever met. There is a little money, but obviously the property is the main asset. We have been paid in advance for our services, therefore it should all be very straightforward.’

‘I can’t get my head round any of this,’ Jack told me, shortly after Mr Lewis had left us. Dazed, we sat together in our living room, staring out at the now ruined garden next door. ‘A whole house and everything in it, and we’d only known her five minutes. To be upfront, I’m really not sure how I feel about it. I mean, what are we going to do with it? After the bones turning up, it’s all left a very nasty taste.’