Of course, there was a mountain to sort out, lots to think about, all sorts of plans to get straight while she waited: where she would go, who she would employ, what she would say to her mother. Cherry Trees was out of the question. Nothing on earth would make her take up there again as if nothing had happened. She’d need to go back initially, of course – she’d have to gird her loins for that, it made her feel sick to even think of it, but these things must be done. It would only be for a week or so, to organise what needed organising: gather the children, pack, but she’d certainly sell, take Everett and Mary with her, perhaps get a second girl as housemaid as well as a maid for herself. Surely her mother would be pleased to see her equipping herself with proper staff – it might even make up for having a divorce in the family and her mother could hardly weep over Douglas. Wasn’t it what they’d all wanted all along? The heir produced, and the commonality of Anstruther, gone? Ian would be cooked in Campbell fires as if his father’s blood was just a blip, a spark to light him, consumed with the match and the kindling. He wouldn’t remember him at all. She was sure she’d allow Douglas to visit and teach Ian to tinker with engines.

She rested the churns on the grass again. A buzzard wheeled above her, crying into the wide Norfolk sky. She’d suggest to her mother that she move to Strachur. That’s what she’d do. Why not? It was closed up most of the year; they only opened it for summer. It would all be Ian’s one day, so why not now? Yes. She had it all mapped out. That’s what she’d do. She and the children and plenty of staff, Strachur all hers, her mother up for summer, Joan too if she absolutely had to, but for no longer than a week, a fortnight at most, and Douglas could visit occasionally. It was going to be perfect.

Scotland would be good for Fagus too. Apart from the stairs – would he remember? Would he feel his way and say mumma, was this where I fell? But she was assuming he’d be just the same. For all she knew he was up and running, he could be skipping about like Ruby by now and she’d missed it; the great rise, the seeing, the bloom to full health – and even if he wasn’t, even if he was, what? A little ragged round the edges? He’d be a young man one day. He’d need her.