On Sunday Heathcliff burned her cat. Verity was a beautiful all-white Persian. She was a famous cat. She'd starred in a series of Broad-Brush greeting cards.
Linda was looking out the window at Daddy's herbaceous border, and saw Heathcliff throw Verity, stiff as a board, onto a bonfire. She'd died of a heart attack; it was the shock of seeing a farm. Heathcliff couldn't understand why Linda was upset. "It's just a dead old puss," he said.
Then she had some friends round to lunch, and he insisted he could imitate a bull's mating call so well that the cows would be fooled. There was her new husband making urgent, guttural, bovine noises. The worst of it was that the cows did come crowding round. "Is that how you and Linda met, then?" Livvy asked. It was so embarrassing.
She's left him down on the farm. The terrible thing is Heathcliff and Daddy get along wonderfully. They sat up til three in the morning talking about her. Daddy thinks he's found someone to inherit the farm.
Heathcliff's going to be terribly difficult to get rid of. Just like the others.