Tommy. I didn't want to think about him. I was glad he wasn't on the terrace reading. He'd been so tremendously kind, so brave. He'd shown such strength of character yesterday, always taking the difficult option; it was dizzying to contemplate what I owed him. And then there'd been that extraordinary declaration on the jetty at Newlyn which I was sure he'd rather forget and which hadn't been mentioned since, but then when, exactly, would have been the moment for that to have resurfaced? When he was axing in the lock on a fume-filled stable door? When he was breaking the sad news to your son that his father had decided he had nothing worth living for, including him? A little loving text to yours truly, perhaps? Or maybe, maybe — I stopped suddenly in my tracks, mid-thought, realizing he was right in front of me.

He was sitting on the ancient swing rocker in the garden with Roger. The backs of both heads were visible over the swing seat, one russet, one white. Tommy was no doubt gently bolstering Roger; reassuring him that he would do everything in his power to limit the damage. Look after Hugo. I stayed still a moment. How strange. I could only see the back of Tommy's head, and yet it rocked me. Moved me. I had to take a breath to steady myself, but then I'm like that. Easily knocked. Or was that insincere, too? An excuse? Was the truth, actually, that I hadn't been brave enough to address my own feelings, protected myself, in case of being hurt, because he was, after all, Tommy Rochester? Just shoved it to the back of my mind? I crept into the house, ashamed.

The front hall was empty and, beyond the green baize door, the kitchen seemed quiet, too, but I already knew Hugo was back. I'd met Iris in the stable yard when I parked my car. She'd been mucking out one of the loose boxes. She pretended she hadn't seen or heard me, but I walked across and put my head over the stable door.

"How is he? Do you know? Hugo?"

She turned. Rested on her pitchfork. "He's back," she told me, nodding up to his window which was above the back door. "Belinda went to fetch him at six o’clock this morning."

"Belinda did?"

"Beat Christina to it. And she knew they'd release him early, they always like the empty bed."

“Typical." I seethed.