‘No … no, stay here.’ Gwen’s mouth is suddenly dry. ‘Keep Tom with you, will you? I don’t want him getting in the way.’ She rests her fork against the side of the wagon as her eyes rake the hedgerow, searching for her son. She finds him balanced in the lower branches of the hazelnut bush, only a matter of feet off the ground. Deducing he is perfectly safe, she wipes her damp palms on her trousers and sets off down the field, her arms swinging purposefully by her sides. By the time she reaches the woman, she is breathing hard, but it is not exertion that has shortened her breath. It is fear.

‘Hello, Mrs Ellison.’

Gwen is irked by her visitor’s advantage. She is unsure how to address the beautifully presented woman before her – she is not versed in titles and decorum – but then she remembers how Gordon Allingham’s wife is referred to in the village and she finally finds her voice.

‘Lady Helen.’

The responding smile suggests her greeting is satisfactory.

‘I thought I should come and see you. I know you had an encounter with my husband last night and I wanted to … apologise … He had no right to ambush you like that. Gordon is like a child sometimes. His petulance can make him a little bombastic.’

Gwen tries to hide her surprise, but her raised eyebrows give her away. ‘Your apology is accepted. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do and, as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing further to say on the matter.’

‘I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you, Mrs Ellison.’ Lady Helen’s step forward is accompanied by a fleeting glance at her shoe, wary of what she might be tramping in, but she swiftly meets Gwen’s eye again. She produces a detached smile. ‘I believe a heart-to-heart between us would be far more conducive than Gordon’s hot-headed threats.’

Gwen is stunned. She stares at the woman before her. ‘Forgive me …’ she stutters at last, ‘… you know? You know what he came to discuss with me?’

‘Yes, yes, I know all about it.’ She looks past Gwen. Shielding her eyes again, she allows her gaze to linger on Tom. He is dangling now from a branch of the hazelnut, shouting to Nora, but the distance and the building breeze prevents them from deciphering his words. ‘Tom. He came to speak to you about his son.’

‘Tom is not Gordon’s son.’ Gwen is relieved by the steel in her voice. ‘How many times do I have to say it? He is not Gordon’s son.’

Lady Helen blinks slowly. ‘But your letters …’

‘Look, I’m not proud of what I did. I wrote those letters hoping to trick him into marrying me.’

‘Yes … he told me last night that was your story.’