Seems everyone in the hills got a key to my door. They blow through the house like fallen leaves in autumn wind and help me to empty granny's vast stock of Chardonay. Yesterday it was the gardener and the attorney (that btw only needed a signature on some paper, peew) and this morning I discovered that someone must be living in the guestroom in the wing.
As far as I've discovered from my little Miss Marple tour of the mansion, the man is at least 6'7'', owns a Persian cat and only eats velvet cake.
And now, as night falls like an apple on Newton's head, someone just opened the door downstairs. Exciting!
(Btw, I must thank the beautiful www.thetrashedfashion.com for the love. White kisses!)