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Have a Cuppa with Shirley (or Martin)

Excuse me sitting, but my feet are killing me.  I've been up and down those stairs all day, and at my age, too! And now we're having more meetings. It's not like the old days. Everything's gone to the dogs since his lordship arrived. Actually, he's away now. Popped down to the Caribbean, he did, gone after Miss Ann. If she had any sense, she'd send him packing on the next plane out. Never been a sensible girl, though. Not that she's not good hearted, mind you. A bit of a wet blanket, maybe, but not like that Emma. 

That one's gone accusing everyone of nicking the locked box from the safe.  Well, I must say that the thought did cross my mind, but I never took it! I've asked around a bit myself, on the side, and there's no worldly explanation for where it's gone.   Martin doesn't have it--poor man hasn't the wits to trap a mole on a rainy day.   John's away.  That bloke that's been hanging around, what's his name?   Porkrump or something like that. He's Simon's mate. That's enough for me to rule him out--hasn't got the brains.  Maybe Evelyn, but I doubt it. No motive. And there's no use in Emma nicking  it. She's mad to get it open and tell the world what's inside.  My guess is that SHE's been busy again. Has been quiet for all these months, hasn't SHE? 

And you know that Frank's stopped talking.  He gave Emma his story, and hasn't spoken a word since. It's sad really. I can't believe he's been here for as long as he has. Those were nice days. Monty listing to the radio in his study, John helping his granddad when he'd come down from Vera's. Still, we can't go back. The past is dead and gone.

Well, would you like another cuppa? I've got some chocolate bickies too if you fancy one.  There's the kettle. Hang on, hang on, I'm coming....

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