This was a bad move. Malcy was very proud of his tartan trews and wore them proudly to every smart occasion, which included the nativity play as far as he was concerned. He turned a very dark red, turned on his heel, and walked out, leaving the party slightly giggly and hysterical, the children running about wondering what had happened and Candace, who had filmed the entire thing, absolutely delighted.

There was a bit of quiet. Konstantin turned to Joel. “Seriously, I don’t think . . . we need a lawyer?”

Joel shrugged. “I don’t think the council budget could afford me. So hopefully they’ll just have to let it go.”

Around them the party was clearly winding down, and Flora was quite happy to see everyone go.

“Allez allez!” Gaspard was shouting, hurrying Isla out to the van with great trays of pans, empty except for the odd spare crumb. Everything had patently been an absolutely massive success.

“Still, you should probably go to a meeting,” said Joel, unaware he was taking up valuable time Konstantin would much rather be using to chase Isla. She glanced back at him. “We could offer them a—”

“Allez!!” Gaspard was shouting. “Let’s go, Konstantin! Isla, you can go home, chérie .”

Everyone had gone.

With a desperate look at Konstantin, then at a beaming Candace, Isla slowly started pulling on her coat. Konstantin badly wanted to go to her, but how could he in a slowly emptying room with everyone looking at them both?

“Uhm, see you tomorrow,” Isla said, feeling her voice pathetically weak.

KONSTANTIN DASHED OUT the back door of the farm and round to the front, where Isla was tramping away down the hill through the low-lying snow. The stars were gleaming overhead and it was absolutely freezing.

There were, to his utmost frustration, too many other people all heading the same way back into the village, sleepy children being carried piggyback, nodding over their parents’ shoulders; buggies with babies wrapped up tighter than parcels; some people singing and breath everywhere showing on the frosty air. From up the hill, the statue was lighting all their way back home, a kindly glow over the moonlit road. Konstantin’s brow furrowed again. How could they say it was horrible?

But he had to catch up to Isla. Normally in day-to-day life it would be nothing to shout at her, seeing as they worked together and knew each other. Nobody would think anything of it. Already she’d been engulfed in a crowd of people she knew.

But somehow now, everything had changed. He felt if he said her name—even worse, shouted it—the entire village would stand and stare and he could not, absolutely would not, be able to do what he wanted to do, which was take her in his arms and kiss her till he couldn’t kiss her any more.

Meanwhile, Gaspard was calling his name from behind him. He thought about it for a second, then thought, To hell with it, it’s only a pot-washing job, and, feeling faintly sinister for a moment, ran off down the hill behind her.