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– but just at this moment he felt helpless. Since that wretched operation on his lung he’d
been less resilient. The trouble was, he told himself, that he was worrying about all of them; all of those dearest to his heart.
    Dear old Im and Jules, for instance, not knowing where they’d go at Easter. He’d believed that the Summer House might be the answer to their problem but he could see Lottie’s point about Sara’s reaction and keeping it all for Nick. Though, to be honest, he couldn’t really imagine any of them wanting to live in the High House. Not that it was any of Sara’s business how much he sold the Summer House for – and anyway, the money would revert to his estate and Nick would get it all eventually and then, no doubt, he’d sell up. And then what about Lottie?
    Milo shifted uneasily: what would Lottie do if anything should happen to him? He knew she wouldn’t stay here without him but where would she go?
    â€˜I’ve been one of the foolish virgins,’ she’d said to him once. ‘I’ve kept no oil in my lamp for the cold dark future.’
    She’d said it cheerfully enough, not asking for sympathy, but he knew very well that she’d been supporting Helen and the children in the flat at Blackheath. Tom had left enough for them to buy the flat but very little else and Lottie had contributed a great deal more than simply her rent.
    â€˜I love them, you see,’ she’d told him when he’d murmured something about thinking of herself for once. ‘Helen simply couldn’t work, she’s completely unreliable, and I can’t abandon her or the children.’
    He’d muttered something else about her always having a home with him, and she’d got up suddenly from her chair and put her arms around him and hugged him. Little Lottie: funny little Lottie. Such an odd little girl she’d been with her dark mop of hair and those strange grey eyes fringed with
sooty black lashes. Her hair had gone a silvery grey by the time she was thirty but she’d never bothered to dye it and he’d liked that; she’d looked so arresting, so different , and it had suited her somehow. Of course, Helen had left her some recompense in her will but all that home care, and finally the nursing home, had cost so much that, at the end, there wasn’t much left for any of them.
    Secretly, selfishly, he was glad. He’d been surprised at the depth of his relief when Lottie had agreed to make the High House her home when she’d taken early retirement last year. She might so easily have stayed in London amongst all her friends, but she had friends here, too, she’d said, and she’d rather be at the High House than anywhere else, though they both knew that the real reason was because he’d had to have the operation and she’d wanted to be there to look after him. Of course, Sara had kicked up; she’d seen the complications that might so easily arise and had told him exactly what she thought about it all.
    â€˜You’ve never thought about anyone but yourself,’ she’d said. ‘Where will Lottie go when you die? Remember how much older than her you are. Much better that she sorts herself out now. You’ve always spoiled and protected her. It’s about time she lived in the real world.’
    He’d laughed out loud at that. For Sara, supported and provided for all her life, to criticize Lottie, who’d worked full time whilst trying to keep Helen sane and her children happy, was completely out of order, and he’d said so.
    â€˜I shall make certain that she can stay here for as long as she wants to,’ he’d told her – and she’d positively screamed at him so that he’d simply hung up on her. Yet he’d loved her once.
    He was gripped with an unexpected and terrible sadness.
She’d been so beautiful, so amusing, such fun – and she’d been so much in