The Cellar Door
Carol Grundy’s MG raced around the sharp bend, the tires screeching their protest at the speed with which its driver had elected to take the turning.
She grinned to herself. She loved open roads, especially ones with no cameras.
The late afternoon sun had begun its descent. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was almost five past three.
She was late!
She had agreed to meet the agent at three, as it was Christmas Eve after all she understood that he wanted an early finish to the working day.
She guessed she was still a few miles away from her Great Uncle’s house…Or her house, as it was now!
She still could not believe her luck. A relative she barely knew existed had bequeathed her his home, a rambling house in Cornwall overlooking the sea. Prior to this, the
