"Oh, I'm sure he did, in his own way. Probably still does. But is it really love, if it's that milky and diluted? I think few people are ever lucky enough to really find it, Flora. And many settle for less."

I was fairly sure this was why Iris had never married. Mum had always said she couldn't brook compromise and I was silenced by the quiet authority of her words. And the confidence. You needed that, to be completely on your own. Some would say I had it, but I'd always had Peter, and I'd also had, in the past, pluperfect sense, Hugo. I'd obviously grilled Mum about Iris and had longed for her to say, ah yes, well years ago there was this dashing young hunt master/naval captain/stable girl, perhaps, who broke her heart, but she never did. Iris remained an enigma: happy with her horses, her apartment above the coach house, her life. Integral to, but always separate from, the Bellingdon clan. A spectator. I wonder if she also knew that her happiness — not just contentment — unsettled people.

"How is everyone back at the ranch?" I stroked the mare's silky, warm neck. "Peter OK?" I added casually.

"Gone surfing with his mates, round at Porthlemon. Quite a way. They drove up this morning to collect him. School friends, I gather."

"Oh good! Yes, that's right, he met some of them at the pub. Good, I'm glad he's having fun. Otherwise it's all rather old for him up there, don't you think?"

Iris narrowed her eyes speculatively across the bay. She took her time to reply. "Oh, Peter can look after himself." Then she shortened her reins. “This one's getting fidgety, Flora. I'd better move on. Give him my regards." She jerked her head further on, up the hill.

I glanced to where she'd gestured, where I was going. "How did you . . . ?"

But when I turned back she'd already gone. I watched the flanks of her young gray mare, spooking at the rabbit holes she was being asked to navigate, with every assurance from her rider that there were no tigers in them. In a few years’ time she wouldn't give them a second glance and would be tripping nimbly down here in the dusk, knowing exactly where to put her dainty hooves, thanks to the expert guidance she'd been given. I watched her progress for a bit then walked on.