She was just dropping a fish into a barrel when she became aware of horse’s hooves on the cobbles of the harbour and when she looked up what little colour she had in her pale cheeks drained away and she quickly looked down again. It was Barnaby Greenwood. He was the owner of the fishing trawler that had come in that morning so he was no doubt there to ensure that all was well. She just prayed that he wouldn’t spot her.

Her prayers went unanswered, however, when a short time later she became aware of someone standing close by, and glancing down and to the side she saw a fine pair of soft leather riding boots. With a sigh she slowly looked up and met Barnaby’s eyes.

‘Amber . . . Miss Ainsley, I thought it was you,’ he said, obviously feeling very awkward. ‘What are you doing here?’

She was aware that Isla and Bridget were listening intently and felt herself flush.

‘What does it look like? I’m gibbing the fish,’ she answered shortly. He was no longer her employer so she saw no reason why she should speak to him respectfully.

‘I see.’ He looked guilty as he gently smacked his riding crop against the side of his leg. Amber looked terribly ill. She had lost weight and her eyes, which had dark smudges beneath them, seemed to have sunk into her face. As for her poor hands, they were a mass of blisters and cuts, and he couldn’t help but feel that this was all his fault. ‘But you do know that your job is still open at Greenacres?’ His voice was kindly, almost imploring, but it cut no ice with her. This was the man who had ruined her life as far as she was concerned.

‘I’ve no wish to come back to Greenacres,’ she answered coldly, her eyes flashing as she met his gaze. She desperately wanted to ask him how her baby was and if she had settled with the family he had found for her? But of course, she couldn’t.

‘But you do know that the herring girls will be moving on next week?’ he went on persistently. ‘I trust you are not thinking of going with them?’

She wondered why he should care? After all, he hadn’t cared when he had turned his back on her.

‘I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.’ She slit another fish open and deftly threw the intestines into the offal bin.

‘Well . . . if you should decide you wish to come back do come and see me.’ He bowed then, as if he was speaking to someone of his own class, and turning about, he strode back to his horse.

Isla and Bridget started to titter. ‘So who were that then, lass?’ Isla asked enviously. ‘Weren’t that the owner o’ the trawler?’

‘Yes, it was,’ Amber said shortly.