‘The letters?’ Her laugh is hollow. ‘You didn’t believe them, did you? Oh dear, it was rather conniving of me but …’ She rejoices as his arrogant certainty gives way to ill-concealed confusion. She has wrong-footed him. She presses her advantage, no longer caring what he or anyone else thinks of her. She cares only for her son. ‘You see, Gordon, I was in a bit of a predicament. I had been … how do I put it … playing the field. You were the first to capture my heart but Jack Ellison … well, he proved persistent. He was so flattering and attentive and we were thrown together hour after hour, day after day and I found myself unable to resist … and unable to choose between you. And then I realised, perhaps I didn’t have to.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m rather ashamed to say it, but I’m not. I suppose all the attention quite turned my head. But then I realised I was pregnant, and I knew from the timings … well, let’s just say I knew it couldn’t be yours. But I liked you Gordon and, even more, I liked the life you could give me. But then of course you announced your engagement and I realised just as I had been having my fun with you, so you had been having your fun with me. But I didn’t want to abandon the game straight away – I thought I’d try one last throw of the dice. So, I wrote those letters, to see if I could trick you into marrying me after all. But when it became clear you had no intention of standing by me or the child I was trying to palm off as yours, I had no choice but to ask Jack to do the right thing.’

‘Do you honestly expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story?’

‘It’s the truth. I’m not proud of what I did, what I’ve done, but it’s the truth. Jack Ellison is Tom’s father, not you, and those letters are just a pack of lies.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Why? Because you can’t believe that I slept with another man while I was sleeping with you? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, isn’t that what they say? Weren’t you making love to your fiancée at the same time you were making love to me? Two can play at that game, Gordon, and I certainly did. So, rest assured, Tom is nothing to do with you and never was. Now get the hell off my farm. You have no right to be here.’

She shoulders past him, forcing herself to take confident strides, willing her legs to hold though she is as unsteady as a newborn foal. She gets as far as the corner of the stable block before Gordon yanks her round.