‘He’s disappointed in me. I’ve disappointed him.’ She crosses her arms against a stiffening wind. ‘He took great satisfaction in reminding me earlier that he had warned me to stay away from Gordon. If I had just done as he said …’

‘No use crying over spilt milk. What’s done is done.’

‘And now you’re paying the price. I’m ruining your life.’

‘Gwen.’ He lays his hand on her arm. ‘You could never ruin my life.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re helping me at all. What do you stand to gain?’

His hand drops. He longs for the courage to speak the truth, but he knows his confession would be pointless and futile. So instead he summons a half-truth. ‘Maybe it’s just my way of making amends for Jenny. I couldn’t help her, but I can help you.’

‘This war …’ she shakes her head, ‘it doesn’t even feel like we are at war.’

‘Aye, it’s strange, isn’t it? Nothing’s changed. No bombers over the south coast … no invasion ships.’

‘What if it stays like this? What if they sort things out and there isn’t an actual conflict? What if it’s all resolved through diplomacy? If that happens, Jack, we’ll be married in the eyes of the law and you won’t need to enlist …’

‘You’re worried you’ll be stuck with me. God forbid …’

‘I didn’t mean it like that …’

‘Aye you did, lass.’ He does his best to conjure a smile. ‘And you’ve every right to think that. For what it’s worth, I think Hitler is just biding his time. He’ll have us in his sights in due course. I will be off to fight, lass. Look, I know you’re worried, but I meant what I said – I have no hold on you, that’s not why I’m doing this. I just want to help. Once I leave here – and I will leave, war or no war – I’ll not come back.’

‘I feel so awful for—’

‘Not wanting me?’

‘You’re so very nice.’

‘Aye, but that’s not enough, is it? Despite all he’s done, your heart belongs to another.’

‘But it’s not as if you love me.’

‘Would it make any difference to you if I did?’

He holds his breath, waiting for her reply. Seeing her flicker of surprise morph into wariness, he regrets voicing his question. There is nothing to be gained from examining their feelings, or from exposing the open wound of his love.

‘I’d best get back inside,’ she says at last. From the gloom beyond the chicken coop, one of the Clydesdales whickers.

‘Aye, it’s getting late.’

She pauses at the paddock gate as if intending to say something more, but in the end she simply says, ‘Goodnight, Jack’ and returning the farewell he watches her go, taking his heart with her.