‘Bloody threshing team.’ Ted takes out his frustration on a clod of soil, kicking it across the field. ‘Someone must have said about that fight.’

‘And Nora’s been talking. That detective didn’t have to tell me who it was, I knew from what he said. If anyone works out the connection between Tom and Gordon …’ She turns, doubling over as a wave of nausea hits her.

Ted rests his hand awkwardly on her back. She pulls away – not to hurt him, she just can’t bear being touched – but seeing the pain her perceived rejection causes, she mutters an apology. She releases a ragged breath and looks up the field. Three crows skim the ground in low flight.

‘When will he back?’ Ted asks at last.

She shrugs and shakes her head. ‘I don’t know.’ Her throat aches. ‘I knew I’d go mad, sitting at home waiting … I thought it was best to keep busy.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be all right.’

‘That’s what Jack said to me. But I’m not so sure.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘I just want him back.’

Her confession escapes as a whisper and this time it is Ted who looks away. He studies the solitary oak tree that stands guard over the field. It has cast off its autumnal shawl, leaving a tracery of branches silhouetted against the pale sky.

‘I see.’

He says the words so softly they are almost lost on the rise and fall of the breeze that brushes their faces.

He pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his mouth. ‘Well … I’d best be getting on.’

She nods, unable to shift her misery even to raise a farewell.

He starts to walk away, but stops, staring at the horizon. He turns back to her.

‘It will be all right, Gwen. I promise you that.’ He scuffs the soil with the sole of his boot, searching for the right words. ‘He’s a good man, Jack. I’ve come to see that. A good man.’

‘He is,’ she manages.

He looks at her intently for a moment, then summons a wistful smile.

‘Goodbye, Gwen.’

She watches him go, his shoulders hunched, his head hanging low, and suddenly she feels neglectful of him and realises that she has taken him too much for granted.

‘Come over for dinner tonight? I’d appreciate your company,’ she calls, wanting desperately to make amends – a gesture of gratitude long overdue.

He fails to acknowledge the offer. Fearing he hasn’t heard she starts to go after him, but as he reaches the gate he raises his hand to accept. Without looking back, he walks out into the lane.

She is sluicing out the parlour, cleaning up from the afternoon milking, when Jack appears. Sweeping the murky water out into the yard, she looks up to see him at the gate. Her broom crashes to the ground and she is running.