I stumbled backwards, regretting my flippancy, and he caught hold of my wrist and grabbed me back.

‘Let go!’

He released me and held his hands up. ‘Just didn’t want you to fall in your condition.’

‘Lottie, dear! You’re back!’

Behind Harvey, Betsy was making her way along the corridor, trailing her fingers along the wall to keep herself steady. ‘Where are you? Let me see your lovely face. You were marvellous yesterday, absolutely marvellous. I can’t wait for us to have a proper catch-up about it all. Do you know the phone and online orders have gone through the roof? We’ve even got a waiting list for this year’s vintage.’

Which would be the last Butterworth vintage. I felt a sob forming in my throat as my emotions became too much for me to keep in. I pushed past Harvey and into Betsy’s arms.

‘I’m so pleased,’ I said through my tears. ‘I’ve been so happy here; you don’t know what this place has done for me.’

‘Oh, silly, the pleasure and the privilege is all ours.’ Betsy patted my back and peered at me. ‘Harvey has been telling me how you two met and about your lovely flat in London. Quite the romantic, isn’t he? I must admit I was surprised when he turned up, but I’m very happy for you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If that’s what you want?’

‘I … well, yes, I’m surprised too,’ I said, wondering what sort of cock and bull story Harvey must have told her.

‘I thought Lottie could give me a tour, Mrs Butterworth,’ Harvey said as politely as a Boy Scout. ‘Get some fresh air into her lungs after that train journey.’

‘Of course, good idea.’ Betsy looked disappointed at not having me to herself.

‘Actually, I want to go and freshen up first,’ I said. I pressed a kiss to her soft cheek. ‘Perhaps we can catch up later with a cup of tea?’

Betsy and I arranged to have afternoon tea at three and Harvey and I set off across the yard to my cottage. I was all fingers and thumbs and after several attempts to unlock my front door, Harvey took the key from my hand.

I stood back, expecting him to open the door, but he twirled the keyring round on his finger and closed it into his palm. He nodded at my stomach.

‘Due in February, then?’

I licked my lips, wondering whether I had the guts to lie and pretend it wasn’t due for another six months, thereby automatically eliminating him as the father. But I couldn’t do it; whatever the relationship was between us now, at the time we’d made this baby, we’d loved each other.

‘That’s right,’ I said, summoning up all my bravado to look him in the eye. ‘I conceived sometime in May.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s the father?’