The man touched the bark on the trunk of the tree and looked up at the network of twigs and buds above. He reached up for the end of one branch and bent it down close to his face to examine it before letting it go back to its original position. And then he stepped back onto the path, taking care not to crush the geraniums, despite their neglect.

He was three yards from the front door when she began to run. The library books in her basket clattered against the wickerwork, battering the corners off-square as they jolted up and down with every step.

He stood at the green front door, looking at it, with his hand raised, but for some reason not lifting the unpolished brass knocker. As she got to the open gate she saw that his overcoat was not new and his boots were worn down at the heel. All this she took in quickly, and she knew then, from his stance, that this was not Finlay, and that what her heart wanted was not what the evidence was showing her.

He heard her footsteps, turned to look at her, and lifted his cap.

The cap should have told her. Finlay would never have worn a cap like that, not unless he was playing golf with Father and the sun was going to get in his eyes. It was difficult to guess this man’s age; in his forties, perhaps? Hair greying at the sides. Maybe five foot nine, definitely not six feet tall. Weary, accepting his situation, not challenging it.

‘Can I help you?’ she said.

He smiled, but the smile didn’t get as far as his eyes. ‘I was admiring your cherry tree.’

‘I saw.’

‘Wrong time of year to be pruning it, but it could do with some attention.’

‘You are a gardener?’

‘No. Not officially anyway, I just like trees. I’m a painter and decorator, been in business for almost twelve years, with good references.’

‘And you’re looking for work?’ She saw his shoulders lose some of their squareness and watched him prepare for rejection.

‘I know this is an unexpected call, and you may have someone in mind for your jobs already . . .’

‘I’m sorry,’ she realised as she spoke that she really was sorry, ‘but I’m afraid I’m not in a position to have any decorating done at the moment.’

He nodded and stepped away from the door.

‘I apologise for disturbing you.’

‘You aren’t, actually. It’s just that I don’t want anything done right now, this month or next. But if you leave me your details, I’ll be in touch when I’m ready.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’

‘There isn’t much work about at the moment, I suppose?’

He shook his head.