Secrets of the Cornish House

by Clare Willis

Genres: World War II

Synopsis

A forgotten mansion. A wartime secret. What lies behind the door of the Cornish house?

Cornwall, 1944: As her beloved brother fights the Nazis in Europe, Mary Trewallis works tirelessly on the makeshift hospital wards for injured servicemen that have taken over her family's grand ancestral home on the edge of Bodmin Moor.

Her world changes forever when she meets dashing Australian pilot Ned Sullivan, while collecting vital medical supplies from the nearby airbase. Ned is far from the sort of man her parents expect her to marry, yet Mary falls head over heels in love with him. For the very first time, she dares to hope for a future in peacetime and a life lived on her own terms.

But when her dreams are shattered by the terrible impact of war, Mary is faced with an impossible choice...

Sydney, Present Day: Lucy Anderson's fairy-tale wedding day turns into a disaster when her fiancé abandons her just before the ceremony. As she tries to move on with her life, her mother receives an unexpected letter from a law firm in England informing her she has inherited a house in Cornwall.

Armed with a non-refundable honeymoon ticket to London and a desperate need to escape, Lucy makes an dramatic decision: she is going to England to see the house.

As Lucy tries to work out exactly what connects this crumbling manor to her own family, she will uncover a secret from decades past that has the power to change her life forever...

Readers love Clare Willis:

'Wow what a blockbuster of a narrative, I was hooked from the first page and until the end... Full of intrigue and secrets... Be prepared to be swept away' Reader review ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Heartwarming and inspirational story about hope, forgiveness, bravery, promises made and secrets kept, that will stay with you long after you have read the last page' Reader review ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Absolutely fantastic read, found myself not being able to put it down, what a compelling, interesting and superb book' Reader review ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Gripping and beautifully written read that blends intrigue, culture, and emotion with ease... Draws you in from the very first page, offering vivid insights into Singapore' Reader review ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: October 22, 2026

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

CHAPTER 1

Bondi Beach, Sydney

Saturday, 3rd June 2023

Lucy Kennedy felt like a fairy-tale princess as she descended the grand staircase of Rattigan’s Hotel. Everything had gone like clockwork and it was all turning out exactly how she had hoped. Hardly surprising, given how many weddings she had planned for other people over the years. But today was different: today was her special day.

Even the weather had obliged and, outside, the winter sun shone in a bright blue sky, illuminating the turquoise waters of Bondi Beach where runners and dog walkers were going about their usual weekend routines. How funny, she thought, that it was just another normal Saturday for them, but for her it was the most important day of her life: the day she would marry Adam Rattigan.

There was a collective gasp from Lucy’s nearest and ­dearest, gathered in the lobby below. They all spoke at once, a ­chorus of compliments, oohing and aahing their approval as the ­photographer snapped away, capturing the moment. She beamed at them, her eyes shining as she delighted in their reaction. Her ivory gown was the epitome of winter elegance, with a delicate lace bodice, long sleeves and a full, chiffon skirt. It fitted her hourglass figure like a glove. Her dark-brown hair was held in place by a sparkling silver tiara, with soft ringlets resting on her shoulders.

‘Oh, Lucy!’ her mother Amelia cried, tears in her eyes as she glowed with pride. ‘You look perfect!’ Her best friend, Aunty Sheila, reached into her handbag and handed her a tissue.

‘Aw, Mum! Don’t go getting all soppy on me now,’ Lucy said, her eyes bright with her own unshed tears. ‘I don’t want to ruin my make-up!’

‘But you do, darl,’ added Carly, her bridesmaid and best friend since primary school. ‘You look amazing!’

‘Your dad would have been so proud!’ Amelia sniffed into her tissue. ‘And Gran, too! She would have loved to have been here for your special day.’

‘Oh, here we go!’ teased Lucy’s older brother, Stephen, throwing an affectionate arm around his mother’s shoulders. ‘Give it a rest, Mum, or you’ll have everyone in tears! But you do look pretty bloody gorgeous, sis.’ He gave Lucy a wink.

Lucy grinned back, noting the way her brother was fiddling with his collar, clearly uncomfortable in the morning suit that he had been instructed to wear. It was a far cry from his usual mechanic’s overalls, but she had to admit that he had scrubbed up well.

The old-fashioned morning suits were a tradition in ­Adam’s family, his mother had told her. There had been a lot of ‘family traditions’ during the wedding planning, and not much room for negotiation. The wealthy Rattigan parents had insisted on the finest, the most expensive, the most exclusive option every step of the way. And, given that they had insisted on footing the bill for the whole thing, Lucy was hardly in a position to object. She also knew, from her experience ­working for the family’s hotel chain, that no good ever came from crossing Olivia Rattigan.

It was just all so different from her own family and their modest way of doing things. It had been a hard adjustment, especially for her lovely mum, Amelia, who would have made her daughter’s dress and arranged the wedding flowers herself, if she had been given half the chance; not just to save money, but as a gesture of love. But none of that mattered now. The moment was almost here. In just half an hour’s time, Lucy would be walking down the aisle to marry her Prince Charming.

And Adam Rattigan was, indeed, something of a Prince Charming figure. Lucy still had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. He was the archetypal Aussie boy: blonde, tanned and muscular, with piercing blue eyes, a winning smile and bucket loads of easy charm. On top of that, his family was from the prestigious Bellevue Hill area and the Rattigan name opened doors in Sydney. Their chain of restaurants and five-star hotels was synonymous with elegance and luxury. Not that any of that mattered to Lucy, she loved Adam for who he was, not what he had.

‘Well, we can’t stand around here blubbering all day,’ Carly said, shattering the emotional moment with her business-like tone. She checked her watch. ‘Time to get this show on the road, I reckon!’

Aunty Sheila handed out the bouquets, made up of exquisite pink and white roses, and more photographs were taken. Reception staff and passing hotel guests stopped to wish Lucy good luck and Peter, the hotel’s general manager, with whom she had worked for several years, came over to kiss her cheek. Lucy was well liked and well respected in the Rattigan’s company for being a considerate manager. Unlike her boss – and future mother-in-law – Olivia Rattigan, she appreciated and recognised the hard work of her staff.

Bill, the hotel doorman, dressed in his Rattigan’s uniform of top hat and tails, opened the door with a big smile. ‘Best of luck, Lucy love, go knock ’em dead!’

The cool winter breeze was refreshing as the group made their way outside to the wedding cars – a pair of old-fashioned Rolls-Royce Silver Clouds; another Rattigan tradition. They were greeted by a spontaneous round of applause from a large group in the car park. Lucy looked over and gave them a smile and a wave. But her expression changed when she noticed someone rushing across the tarmac towards them.

‘Adam!’ she cried. ‘What on earth . . . ?’

‘I need to talk to you, Lucy,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour, but you didn’t pick up!’

Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s been so busy; I’ve no idea where my phone is, to be honest.’

‘I’ve got it!’ Carly called helpfully, waving her purse in Lucy’s direction. One look at her best friend’s anxious face and she backed off.

Lucy looked her fiancé up and down and something inside her sank. Unshaven and dressed in navy jeans and an olive-green hoodie, Adam was nowhere near ready for their wedding in just half an hour’s time. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale.

‘What’s going on?’ Lucy’s pulse raced as she struggled to make sense of it. This wasn’t what they had planned, or how it was meant to be. They were going to be late; everyone would be waiting. A knot formed in her stomach. Something was wrong.

‘Why aren’t you ready? We should be on our way to the church; everyone will be there . . . ’

Adam took her elbow and ushered her away from the ­others. He stared at the ground for a long moment, as if preparing ­himself. Then he looked up at her and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I can’t do it.’

CHAPTER 2

Bronte, Sydney

Wednesday, 7th June 2023

‘Lucy love, dinner’s ready!’

It was four days later, and Lucy was lying on the sofa at her mother’s house in the suburb of Bronte, where she had been born and had grown up. She was staring at the television screen, engrossed in an episode of an English murder-mystery drama on the ABC. It was how she had spent most of her time for the past few days, ever since arriving on the afternoon of what should have been her wedding day. She was fairly sure she’d seen this episode before, but she couldn’t remember whodunnit and couldn’t be bothered to get up to find the remote control.

She looked up and gave the same reply she had to every suggestion of food. ‘Thanks Mum, I’m not really hungry.’ She nestled her head back into the soft cushion and pulled the blanket tighter around her. It was dark outside and there was a chill in the air, but her stoic mother could never be prevailed upon to switch on the heating.

‘Oh, come on, love, this isn’t like you!’ Amelia crossed the open-plan living space towards her daughter. She tossed the tea towel she was holding over her shoulder and perched on the edge of the sofa. Stroking Lucy’s hair, she sighed. ‘You’ve got to eat something, darl. That good-for-nothing Adam has done enough damage without making you waste away on top of everything else!’

Lucy winced at his name. Unbidden, a tidal wave of emotions surged through her. Rejection, anger, hurt and embarrassment; it was all in there. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Or him!’ she snapped.

She ached inside. A deep, relentless pain that she feared would be with her forever. All her hope for the wonderful future with the man of her dreams had evaporated in just a few seconds. No happy ending for her; at the age of thirty-three, Lucy Kennedy was back at square one: heartbroken, humiliated and alone.

She had never been particularly lucky in love. A ‘late bloomer’ was what her mum had called her, when she finally got round to having her first proper boyfriend at the age of eighteen. Back then, she just didn’t see the point in dating guys unless she genuinely thought it would go somewhere. She had only had one ‘serious’ relationship, moving in with her boyfriend Todd in her late twenties but, ultimately, they had wanted different things out of life. For the past few years, it seemed that all her friends had been getting married and settling down. She had started to fear that it would never be her turn, then gorgeous, handsome Adam had come along and offered her her very own happily-ever-after.

They had met two years earlier, just after she had started working at one of his family’s hotels. At first, she had assumed that it was just a rebound fling. His model girlfriend, ­Rosalie, had dumped him for some Italian count who was in town for the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race and Adam had needed a shoulder to cry on. But a few friendly chats here and there had turned into late-night drinks in the hotel bar after her shift. She liked him and, feeling sorry for him, had been happy to offer him that shoulder. Adam told her later that it was her down-to-earth nature that had first attracted him to her, the fact that she was unfazed by the family name and all that it entailed. She had been hesitant when their friendship became romantic, not least for fear of what his mother – and her employer – would say. Needless to say, Olivia Rattigan had not been impressed.

They were from different worlds, that much was obvious. Lucy had grown up in a warm and loving family, in a ­modest three-bedroom home in the beachside suburb of Bronte, where her dad worked as an electrician and her mum was the secretary at the local primary school. Far from the ocean-view luxury of the beachfront Bronte properties, her parents, ­Amelia and Patrick Kennedy, had bought their little weatherboard house when they had married in the 1970s in the back blocks, a good twenty-minute walk from the beach. Adam, on the other hand, had been brought up by a series of ­nannies at the family’s mansion in Bellevue Hill, which boasted a swimming pool, several household staff and spectacular views across Sydney Harbour.

It was him, Adam had reassured her on the steps of the hotel – as if that made anything better – not her. He had had some Damascene moment, apparently, realising that he wasn’t ready to commit and settle down. He was deeply sorry that he had hurt her, but figured it was best to call it off now, rather than go through with it and live to regret it.

It would have all been so much easier to take, had she not heard later that day from Carly that his old flame Rosalie had called off her own engagement to the Italian count and had been seen with Adam the night before the wedding. It was all so predictable, she thought. Of course he was going to choose Little Miss Perfect over her, Little Miss Girl Next Door. His mother would be delighted.

Lucy saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes and instantly regretted her sharpness. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Her own eyes pricked with the threat of yet more tears.

Amelia squeezed her daughter’s hand, her face etched in concern. ‘I know, love. I know. You’ve got to just give it time,’ she soothed. ‘Everything’s still raw right now. But you will get through this, I promise.’ She smiled, then continued in an Irish accent, ‘You’re a Kennedy! And you know what they say? We Kennedys can get through anything!’

Lucy smiled through her tears as she thought of her Irish father and his family catchphrase. How she wished he were here now, but he had lost his battle to cancer just a few months before she had met Adam. She missed him so much, not least because he had always had a way of cheering her up. Patrick Kennedy had been a devoted family man who had adored his wife and two children. He had worked all the hours God sent setting up his electrical business to provide for his family, but still managed to make quality time for trips to the park and bedtime stories for Lucy and her older brother, Stephen. She missed the warm comfort of his hugs, the way he would always listen to her fully before offering advice, and his positive way of looking at the world. But maybe it was a relief that Patrick wasn’t around; Lucy feared what he might have done to Adam for jilting her on the morning of her wedding.

They heard a key turn and the front door clicked open. ‘Only me!’ came Stephen’s booming voice. He appeared in the living area, still in his overalls from the garage where he worked. A warm smile spread across his handsome, grease-stained face.

‘Here I am, ladies; the prodigal son returns! And I must say that you two really are a sight for sore eyes!’ he flattered in his easy manner, earning a chuckle from his mother and an eye roll from his sister.

‘Dinner smells amazing, Ma!’ He went over to kiss Amelia’s cheek and she wrinkled her nose.

‘But you, my darling boy, do not!’ she replied. ‘Go and get those overalls off and get washed up!’

‘You betcha!’ He unzipped the top part and slipped his arms out of the sleeves, revealing a sweat-stained white T-shirt underneath. ‘You won’t believe the day I’ve had; I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Not here!’ his mother protested when it looked like the rest of the overalls were also coming off. She shooed him towards the bathroom, but before he went, he bent down and ruffled his sister’s hair.

‘Hey, Loopy-Loo!’

She smiled at his childhood pet name for her and gave her usual reply, ‘Hey, grease monkey!’

He followed her gaze to the TV. ‘Oh, I think I’ve seen this one,’ he said. ‘It’s a good one. I think it was the vicar whodunnit. You know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones.’ He waggled his eyebrows dramatically at her.

‘Great.’ Lucy sighed, swatting his arm. ‘Thanks for the spoiler!’

He ruffled her hair again. ‘You’re welcome!’ He grinned.

‘Stephen Kennedy, you silly goose; you never get any better!’ his mother chided playfully.

‘Naw, Mum,’ he said, giving his most winning smile. ‘That’s because there’s no need! I’m perfect just how you made me!’ He blew his mother a kiss then made his way to the bathroom.

Lucy couldn’t help but chuckle at her brother’s ridiculous charm offensive. The sound felt foreign to her, and she realised that it was the first time she had laughed since Adam. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought.

‘That boy, honestly!’ Amelia sighed with mock exasperation. ‘Come on, Lulu,’ she urged, pulling a pained face. ‘You can’t leave me to hear all the latest garage gossip alone! Come and join us at the table?’

Lucy raised her head off the arm of the sofa and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her neck felt stiff and she rubbed it.

‘That’s my girl.’ Amelia smiled, looking relieved. ‘Besides, I’ve got something I need to talk to you both about.’

Dinner around the kitchen table had been a Kennedy tradition for as long as Lucy could remember. The feeling comforted her, reminding her of being a child again, safe in the loving warmth of her family. Every topic had been discussed around this wooden table, every achievement celebrated, and every worry shared. It was where Lucy told her family about her new job at Rattigan’s Hotel and where her father, Patrick, had ­broken the news of his cancer diagnosis.

At Christmas, a fold-out camping table was habitually added to the end to make room for visiting family, a vast red tablecloth laid on top to join them. Amelia’s bachelor older brother, Uncle Lenny, always joined them, along with Gran. Lucy and Stephen had adored their grandmother and loved her ­Christmas visits, not least because she always arrived with lots of treats, usually doubling the number of gifts under the Christmas tree. She insisted on playing Christmas carols at full blast while she made the pavlova for dessert, while their mum made the salads and their dad fired up the barbecue.

These days, the table was a little quieter. For the past two years there had been an empty seat where her father had sat. And they had had their final Christmas with their beloved grandmother. The last few years had been cruel, as Alzheimer’s had slowly but surely taken her from them, but six months earlier she had taken her last breath and was now at peace.

Tonight, the kitchen was warm and cosy from the oven, filled with the delicious scent of garlic and Italian herbs. For the past few days, Lucy had enjoyed being taken care of. She had always been close to her mum, and it felt so natural and easy to let herself be nurtured and comforted. She had slipped happily back into the mother–daughter dynamic and, with ­Stephen home as well, the age-old sibling banter and bickering was back in full swing.

‘This is good, Ma!’ Stephen declared, between mouthfuls of lasagne.

Lucy nodded in agreement, having finally been coaxed into eating. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She gave her mother a small smile and saw Amelia relax.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re both here as there’s something I want to tell you,’ she said.

‘It’d better be good; I cancelled my date for this,’ Stephen quipped.

‘Noble of you!’ Lucy said, dryly. ‘How is the lovely Brenda?’

Stephen frowned. ‘Brenda? Not very lovely, it turns out. We broke up a while back. I’ve met this other chick on Tinder. You should see her, Luce, she’s gorgeous!’ His eyes lit up as he thought of her. ‘She’s got the most amazing—’

‘Anyway!’ Amelia cut him off, as if fearing what might come next. ‘Back to my news!’

Lucy shook her head at her brother. ‘You are such a dag!’ She turned to their mother. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

Amelia took a deep breath. ‘Something quite exciting has happened,’ she began.

‘I knew it, Luce, she’s got a toyboy! You owe me ten bucks!’ Stephen joked with a wink.

‘Oh, give over!’ It was Amelia’s turn to roll her eyes. ‘You know full well that no one will ever replace your father. And I’m perfectly happy on my own!’

Lucy reached over to squeeze her mother’s hand.

‘Last week, I had a letter from your gran’s solicitor,’ she ­began. ‘It arrived the day before the wed—’ Amelia stopped herself, then gave Lucy an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, love. Let’s just say it wasn’t a good time to tell you about it.’

‘Is it about the will?’ Lucy asked. ‘About time, too!’

Six months had passed since their grandmother’s death. She had been a woman of modest means; her three-bedroom bungalow in the western suburb of Bankstown had been sold a few years earlier to fund her care in the nursing home and there wasn’t much in the way of savings. With Uncle Lenny also in residential care after suffering a stroke a few years earlier, it was Amelia who had been granted power of attorney to take care of their mother’s affairs and all she expected in the will was a few thousand dollars that would be left. So there had been some confusion when the solicitor had explained that some ‘complications’ would cause a delay.

Her mother nodded, neatly lining up her cutlery on her finished dinner plate. ‘Yes, it was about the will. He asked to see me, so I went in for a meeting this morning. And I got quite a surprise.’

‘I knew it!’ quipped Stephen, ‘Gran’s secret millions from the gee-gees! How much has she left us?’ he asked, before leaning over to take a second helping.

‘Well, it’s a bit of a funny one, to be honest.’ Amelia paused.

‘Funny haha or funny weird?’ Lucy asked.

‘The latter, I suppose. I’m still struggling to get my head around it. It really does sound like the kind of thing that only happens in the movies!’

‘Strewth, Ma. Out with it!’ Stephen urged.

Amelia took a deep breath then began. ‘Well, your gran’s solicitor forwarded a letter from an English lawyer. He works for a firm called Pascoe’s and they deal in wills and probate. He wrote to tell me that, somehow or other – God only knows how – I’ve inherited a house over there. In England.’

‘What the hell?’

‘That’s crazy!’

Lucy and Stephen both spoke at the same time, their mouths dropping open in unison.

Amelia chuckled at their reactions. ‘Close your mouths, you two, or you’ll catch flies!’

‘Are you serious, Mum? Who on earth would leave you a house? And why just you? What about Uncle Lenny?’

Amelia raised her palms upwards, indicating that she was none the wiser.

‘And on the other side of the world?’ Lucy’s questioning continued. ‘You’ve never even been to England, have you?’ She stared at her mother, incredulous.

‘No, not really. Only a couple of days in London on our way to Ireland after our wedding. Your dad wanted me to meet his Irish relatives, so we had a fortnight in County Limerick. But that was all.’

Stephen’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. ‘But what’s this got to do with Gran and her will?’

Amelia exhaled slowly. ‘Well, it’s complicated and I’ve ­certainly had to do my homework to get my head around ­English inheritance law. It seems that Gran was granted something called a “life interest” in the property, meaning that she could have lived in it or used it during her lifetime, without actually inheriting or owning it. After her death, it then passed to the “remaindermen”; in this case, me.’

‘Do you know where it is, or what it’s like? Have you seen a photo?’ Lucy had so many questions.

Amelia shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea, there was no photo. But it’s in the south-west of England, in Cornwall.’

‘Oh nice!’ Stephen enthused, ‘Great surfing down there. That’s where Dazza’s nan lives, he and Marvo spent a few months working there a few years back. Had a great time, apart from the warm beer. What is it with Brits and warm beer?’ He shook his head as he picked up his phone and started googling.

‘Cornwall?’ Lucy repeated, confused. ‘What possible connection could Gran have with Cornwall?’

‘Well, don’t forget, your gran was a ten pound pom,’ Amelia reminded her. ‘She came over right after the war.’

‘But her family were from London, weren’t they? Not Cornwall. It doesn’t make sense.’

Stephen looked up from his phone and shared what he had learned. ‘Cornwall is about 250 miles from London. About a four-and-a-half-hour drive. Not a million miles away, to be fair. Maybe they had relatives there or something?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘I can’t be sure what the connection is. Your gran point-blank refused to talk about her life ­before coming to Australia. You can’t really blame her after what she went through; she lost her whole family in the war, poor love. She was a real survivor, you know. All I know is that after the war she got on the first available ship and came all this way, to the other side of the world, to start a new life. She met Dad within a couple of months of arriving here – quite the whirlwind romance – then I came along nine months later. She was amazing!’

There was a pause as they each remembered their loving, cheerful grandmother.

‘What about Gran’s stuff in the attic? Maybe there’s something in there that’ll explain it?’ Stephen said, mopping up the last of the sauce on his plate with a hunk of garlic bread.

Amelia nodded. ‘Yes, maybe. I need to sort through everything; I just haven’t had the heart to open the boxes yet. She was a very private lady, your gran. It feels a bit . . . I don’t know, disrespectful to go poking through her things.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Lucy said, ‘I got such a telling off when I was staying with her once and needed some sticky tape for a school project. I opened one of the drawers in her desk and she lost it!’

Stephen nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, I sure copped it a few times too! But she’s not here to tell you off, Mum, so go for it!’ Making a prayer gesture with his hands, he cast his eyes heavenward. ‘Sorry, Gran.’

‘How much stuff are we talking about?’ Lucy asked. ‘Maybe I could help you go through it?’

Amelia smiled gratefully and patted her daughter’s hand. ‘Thanks, love, I’d appreciate that. Well, there’s a couple of ­boxes of things she had with her in the nursing home, plus the crate of photo albums and papers from the old house. Oh, and her old suitcase. I’m sure it’s an antique by now, it’s got her initials engraved on it.’

Lucy smiled as she remembered being fascinated when she found the old-fashioned luggage in the wardrobe when she was a little girl. Then she frowned as she remembered her gran’s reaction to her ‘poking about’ in her things. She certainly had been a very private person.

‘In the meantime, what are you going to do about this house?’ Stephen asked. ‘I reckon someone should go and check it out!’ He looked pointedly at his sister.

‘What are you looking at me for?’ she asked.

‘Oh . . . I dunno . . . ’ Stephen feigned innocence. ‘Hmm, I ­wonder, who do we know who’s already got a return ticket to London booked and paid for?’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

‘You can’t be serious?’ Lucy’s forehead wrinkled. ‘You’re ­actually suggesting that I fly to London alone on my honeymoon? On Sunday? As if!’

Stephen shrugged. ‘I’m just being practical! Seems a shame to let a perfectly good plane ticket go to waste. That arsehole has already paid for the trip; I think a free flight to London is the least you deserve after what he’s put you through.’

Lucy’s stomach sank as Adam came crashing into the ­conversation. She wished she could just delete him from her memory as easily as she had deleted him from her phone.

She shook her head at her brother. ‘You are unbelievable! Mum, tell him!’ she implored, in the same tone she had used after every sibling dispute for as long as any of them could remember.

Her mother looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well, he has got a point, Luce. And you did love all those books that were set over there, in Cornwall. I remember you asking if we could go and visit, remember? What was that writer called again?’

‘Daphne du Maurier,’ Lucy replied flatly, frustrated that her passion for reading seemed to be working against her.

‘Oh, and you had the hots for that Cornish fella, remember?’ Stephen chimed in, through a mouthful of food.

‘What?’

‘You know, that dude with the curly hair. Galloped around on his horse and got his kit off to cut the grass. You thought he was a right panty-dropper!’

‘Poldark?’ Lucy asked, rolling her eyes at her brother’s turn of phrase.

‘That’s the one!’ Stephen grinned. ‘Get yourself over to Cornwall and maybe you’ll get yourself a nice new Cornish guy on a horse.’ He winked playfully at his sister.

‘I’m not going to Cornwall and I’m definitely not on the lookout for a new man!’

Amelia chuckled, then sobered as she reached over to pat her daughter’s hand. ‘No one’s going to make you go to Cornwall. I know you’ve had a rough trot, love, probably best to stay here and let your old mum take care of you. I’ll go back to the solicitor and ask him to see about selling the place.’

Stephen shook his head in frustration. ‘But you can’t just sell it, Mum! Aren’t you curious? If Lucy won’t go, then you have to. Simple!’ He folded his arms with a decisive nod.

‘Will you please stop sending us all off to England?’ Amelia pleaded.

‘Well I can’t go, can I? It’s not my fault that my passport’s expired.’

Lucy shook her head as she stared incredulously at her brother. ‘Stephen, it’s precisely your fault that your passport has expired.’

‘Yes, you need to get that sorted, love,’ Amelia said, patting his hand encouragingly. ‘But in the meantime, I can’t just up sticks and take off like that, what would Uncle Lenny do without me?’

Lucy nodded, understanding her mum’s predicament. ­Amelia was devoted to her brother, Lenny, and visited him every day. He was a couple of years older and had celebrated his eightieth birthday a few months earlier.

‘Poor Uncle Lenny,’ Stephen said with a frown, ‘why doesn’t he get any part of this house in England?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Amelia said with a sad shrug. ‘But he’s struggling with his eyes at the moment, so there’s no way I’m leaving him to go jetting off halfway around the world. And let’s face it, it’s not like there’s pots of spare cash in the bank to go flying off to London.’

‘Well, whatever you decide to do, it’s amazing, Mum!’ Lucy gave Amelia an encouraging smile. ‘And if you sell it, you could give yourself a few treats? Maybe you could afford to turn the heating up?’ She shivered dramatically, teasing her mum.

Stephen was back on his phone, zooming in to explore Cornwall on the maps app.