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would be arriving mid-afternoon, so she ’ d got George to set up wooden trestles, covered with the best of the linen sheets, and flank them with benches.

    Placing a small pot of wild flowers in the centre of each table, she felt reasonably satisfied, even if it was a lot of effort for very moderate returns. However, it was largely a goodwill gesture, and on that level it worked well. Entries in the visitors ’ book in the Great Hall praised the teas lavishly, particularly Daisy ’ s featherlight scones, served with cream and home-made jam.

    For once, the coach arrived punctually, and as one tour ended the next began. Business in the courtyard was brisk, but evenly spaced for a change, so they were never ‘ rushed to death ’ , as Mrs Marland approvingly put it. The weather had lived up to the forecast, and although Monteagle closed officially at six, it was well after that when the last visitors reluctantly departed, prising themselves away from the warmth of the early-evening sun.

    The clearing away done, Helen hung up the voluminous white apron she wore on these occasions, today over neatly pressed jeans and a blue muslin shirt, kicked off her sandals, and strolled across the lawns down to the edge of the lake. The coolness of the grass felt delicious under her aching soles, and the rippling water had its usual soothing effect.

    If only every open day could go as smoothly, she thought dreamily.

    Although that would not please Nigel, who had always made his disapproval clear. ‘ Working as a glorified waitress, ’ he ’ d said. ‘ What on earth do you think your grandfather would say? ’

    ‘ He wouldn ’ t say anything, ’ Helen had returned, slightly nettled by his attitude. ‘ He ’ d simply roll up his sleeves and help with the dishes. ’

    Besides, she thought, the real problem was Nigel ’ s mother Celia, a woman who gave snobbishness a bad name. She liked the idea of Helen having inherited Monteagle, but thought it should have come with a full staff of retainers and a convenient treasure chest in the dungeon to pay the running costs, so she had little sympathy with Helen ’ s struggles.

    She sighed, moving her shoulders with sudden uneasiness inside the cling of the shirt. Her skin felt warm and clammy, and she was sorely tempted to walk round to the landing stage beside the old boathouse, as she often did, strip off her top clothes and dive in for a cooling swim.

    That was what the thought of Nigel ’ s mother did to her, she told herself. Or was it?

    Because she realised with bewilderment that she had the strangest sensation that someone somewhere was watching her, and that was what she found suddenly disturbing.

    She swung round defensively, her brows snapping together, and realised with odd relief that it was only Mrs Lowell, coming towards her across the grass, wreathed in smiles.

    ‘ What a splendid afternoon, ’ she said, triumphantly rattling the cash box she was carrying. ‘ No badly behaved children for once, and we ’ ve completely sold out of booklets. Any chance of the wonderful Lottie printing off some more for us? ’

    ‘ I mentioned we were getting low the other evening, and they ’ ll be ready for next week. ’ Helen assured her, ba aured herthen paused. ‘ We have had a good crowd here today. ’ She gave a faint grin. ‘ The coach party seemed the usual motley crew, but docile enough. ’

    Mrs Lowell wrinkled her brow. ‘ Actually, they seemed genuinely interested. Not a hint of having woken up and found themselves on the wrong bus. They asked all sorts of questions — at least one of them did — and he gave me a generous tip at the end, which I ’ ve added to funds. ’

    ‘ You shouldn ’ t do that, ’ Helen reproved. ‘ Your tour commentaries are brilliant, and I only wish I could pay you. If someone else enjoys listening to you that much, then you should keep the money for yourself. ’

    ‘ I love doing it, ’ Mrs Lowell told her. ‘ And it