Tom West looked out of the window across the lake towards the stables and beyond to Charles' Wright-Smith's beautiful Queen Anne house. He opened a bottle of Chablis - filled two glasses and handed one to his wife. He raised his own.
'To next year, Sammy and to old period cottages but however many you may find there will never be one like our own Woodcutters. It just isn't possible, ' and as he glanced across to the stables Black Satin was nodding his head and he could have sworn his young nephew, The Jolly Roger was cheekily sticking his tongue out in his direction.
He took Sam's hand. 'Are you ready to step into next year with your sleeping partner?' he asked her with a wicked grin.
'Oh yes, ' and she kissed him gently on his lips. 'Let's drink one more toast - to 'Massenden Holiday Lets.' It's going to be great but with you by my side how could it possibly be anything else.'
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