Until then she’d worked selling farms from her base on the south coast. Selling city property was a very different thing, she’d discovered, and her cousin was proving to be a millstone around her neck. Weak and ineffectual, he’d resented her competence from the start.

‘I can cope on my own,’ she told him now. She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I have a strong feeling that Mr Baird doesn’t want you or Mr Francis involved, and if his preferences mean a sale… How much did you say Mrs Copeland has on the place?’

Trevor swallowed. ‘Three million.’

Molly practically gaped. Three million. Whew.

‘Don’t mess it up.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Do you have someone respectable to take as a chaperon?’ Trevor might be a dope but he wasn’t completely heartless. Or he knew he’d have his father to answer to if anything went wrong. ‘The man’s got a reputation a mile long. Angela’s not suitable.’

‘Angela’s definitely not suitable,’ she agreed, managing a twinkle at her friend.

‘You have someone in mind?’

‘I do.’

Trevor paused, baffled at her lack of communication. ‘I suppose it’s all right, then.’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Your hand’s not too sore to keep working? You’d better get moving if you want a Section Thirty-Two prepared.’

‘I’ll do it now.’ She flexed her fingers and winced, but Trevor was the only other person here capable of sorting the paperwork for such a property, and help from Trevor was the last thing she’d get.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on with selling Mr Baird a farm.’

CHAPTER TWO

THANK heaven Lionel wasn’t dead.

Sam was stoic, as Molly had known he would be. He’d been stoic for six months now. He’d taken every bit of dreadful news on the chin. Now his face was pinched, but blank, and when Molly tried to hug him he held back. As always.