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the house expecting to be greeted at any moment by somebody. Nobody was there but his bed had been made up with fresh linen and the bathroom sparkled.

With order and harmony restored, Morty felt relieved and so grateful that he immediately set about to find the person and thank her.

When he telephoned Angela, she had been ill with flu but assured him she was far too busy attending to his son's home to worry about anyone else.

David's wife, Susan, was in Mexico on holiday with the children.

Minerva was cold and seemed most affronted when he suggested it might have been her:

"Believe me, Morty, " she retorted, "nothing was further from my mind!"

Evania explained:

"Morty,it was not me! "

The crazy Meredith twins merely said:

"Violin, viola, cello?"

Morty decided it was a mystery.

His house was perfect. His mysterious housewife seemed to know when he stepped out. Whenever he returned all was neat and tidy. Meals were even prepared.

His castle was a pleasure to live in. It was as if Anemone was looking after him.

The months turned into a year quickly enough and the mystery of the mysterious housewife remained unsolved.

Here we take our leave of Mortimer Jones and his litany of townsfolk including the solitary African American lady who trudges down his street most days.

On this occasion she is reading a letter, well weathered by her purse:

"Thank you so much dearest. He would never manage the housekeeping on his own. Please never let him know that I paid you well in advance for this favor. Take good care of him for me. Yours, most affectionately, Anemone."

As always, when she finished reading the note, a solitary tear ran down Viola's not so grisly cheeks!

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Learn more about this author, Laurence Newman.
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