‘Then you probably know her better than anyone,’ I said kindly. ‘Watch her tonight, gauge for yourself how she is. I think she’s …’ I swallowed.

Jensen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes?’

‘I think she’s very lucky to have you.’

The horn of his car sounded loudly and we looked across to see her waving impatiently at him.

‘She was my rock when I was a little lad,’ he said fondly.

I reached across the stable door and touched his arm. ‘And now it’s your turn to be hers.’

He gave me a dubious look.

‘But don’t tell her that,’ I added and we both laughed.

I waved them off as they drove out of the yard and marvelled at what an unusual day I’d had. Life with the Butterworths was not quite the low-key summer I’d had in mind. Still, I was happier than I’d been in a long time and maybe, I thought with a flutter of hope, I’d finally found somewhere to call home, at least for the summer.

Hours later, a loud insistent knocking at the door woke me with a start. I blinked myself awake. There were no lights on, and with the stable door fully closed, the cottage was dim. The knocking started again, this time with more urgency.

My pulse raced; something might have happened to Betsy in the night. And I was the only one here. I stumbled to my feet and a heavy book crashed to the floor; I must have fallen asleep reading one of Ted’s books.

‘Coming!’ I yelled.

I dashed across the room and flung open the door. ‘Sorry, I was— Oh!’

Jensen stared at me grimly, feet planted, arms folded.

I pressed a hand to my chest, breathing heavily. ‘Is everything okay, is Betsy all right?’

‘Gran’s fine,’ he said. ‘But I’m not. I need to talk to you.’

‘It’s the middle of the night!’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It’s eight thirty; it’s not even dark.’

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was right.

‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘I’m very tired at the moment, a lot has been going on and I haven’t been sleeping—’

‘Can I come in?’ he said, stepping into the cottage and sweeping past me into the kitchen area. There was no point answering that.

‘Tea? Coffee?’ I asked instead, closing the bottom half of the stable door, but leaving the top half open so that Jensen’s hot air could escape. ‘Cold water?’

‘No.’ He caught my eye and looked away again guiltily. ‘Thank you.’

‘How was your dinner?’

He rubbed his forehead, leaned against the worktop and folded his arms again. ‘The waiter told us the specials and Gran repeated each one like it was some sort of memory test, which I thought was odd.’