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common, Nat was ruthlessly totting up the potential worth of the house’s contents. He may have appeared blasé, but in his head he was making a detailed valuation worthy of an insurance broker. There was much to salivate over, but like a real estate agent, Nat knew that it was important not to raise his potential client’s hopes too high. That way you could more easily exceed them. That was how reputations were built.
    “I think we’ll be able to do something for you,” saidNat. He handed Julian a glossy brochure detailing Ludbrook’s terms and conditions. “If you and your brother think that Ludbrook’s is the house for you, I’ll send somebody down to make a proper inventory at your earliest convenience.”
    “Thank you,” said Julian. They shook hands cordialy on the steps to the house, but Julian had felt an instant distrust of Nat Wilde upon meeting him, and the feeling was absolutely mutual.
    The next afternoon—Sunday—as he lay in bed in the green room, as the main guest suite at Trebarwen was called, Julian guiltily recalled the last time he had seen his mother, and how, having failed to extract any cash from the old girl that time, he had wished that the day when she finally shuffled off the mortal coil might come quickly.
    Julian knew he had been his mother’s favorite, but for the past couple of years even she had refused to fund any more of his get-rich-quick schemes. General opinion was that everything Julian touched went belly-up. That wasn’t entirely fair. He had made a paper fortune before the dotcom crash. Likewise, his decision to open an estate agency just before the credit crunch took hold had been based on very sound accounting. And if his mother had shown more faith in him, perhaps Julian wouldn’t have felt compelled to commit the insurance fraud that had landed him in prison for three months.
    No, Julian would not stand in the way of any sale of his mother’s stuff. He needed the money.
    A twenty-minute nap turned into a three-hour snooze. It was hunger that eventually forced Julian to get up. He wandered down to the vast kitchen where once upon a time three cooks had turned out dinners for a hundred,but there was absolutely nothing in the fridge and nothing in his mother’s cocktail cabinet either. It was a Sunday, it was Cornwall, and it was after four o’clock. There was scant chance he would find anywhere open and serving lunch. Perhaps it was time to pay his mother’s neighbor a visit.
    “Oh, hello,” said Serena when she opened the door to Julian Trebarwen. “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she added by way of excusing the shabbiness of her dress. Not that she would have looked much smarter had she been expecting visitors. Serena’s wardrobe contained clothes she could no longer fit into, and jeans. She’d not had the money or time to shop for anything since Tom had walked out.
    “Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Julian. “We’re in the country. Here, I brought you these.” He thrust toward her a fistful of flowers, pulled together from the floral tributes that had been left for his mother.
    “Oh, thank you. That’s very kind.” Still Serena remained on the doorstep, blocking Julian’s entrance. “What can I do for you?” she asked eventually. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I said that. I mean, I’m sure you just popped round to be neighborly.”
    “Actually,” said Julian, “I did have an ulterior motive. I’m afraid you’ll think me a rather hopeless bachelor, but I find myself without a thing in the house. I drove down to the village but …”
    “Everything is shut. I know. You can’t get anything after midday unless you want to drive to Truro. Takes some getting used to after London.”
    “I wonder if I could possibly borrow a little milk and a few slices of bread to tide me over?”
    Serena smiled.
    “I think we can do a little better than that. Katie and Iwere just about to have a little supper. Why don’t you join