‘God, already? What’s he like?’

‘Too early to tell.’

‘Which means he’s absolutely ghastly. You always like people; I’ll come round later. Meanwhile, call as soon as you know more about Lester. Why aren’t you in Scotland, by the way?’

‘Change of plan.’ She felt the approaching sting of exposure. Alice had no idea what was going on in Pax’s world. A one-way mirror lay between them through which Pax could see her sister clearly – Queen Victoria in a Joules gilet and layered bob, stalwart Cotswold wife eager to maintain her claim to the stud. Alice just saw herself reflected back. No rancid marriage rotted from the inside out, no tears and tantrums and delirium tremens, no humiliating, unstoppable breakdown with a stranger she now hated for it. Just fierce Percy fortitude.

Alice was name-dropping a tweedy A-list of Bardswolders amongst today’s guns on her family farm. Perhaps she should tell all if Bay would be trumpeting her news? But Pax found herself staring at the chair her grandmother had always occupied, imagining Alice’s unalloyed horror at her recent behaviour, her insistence that Pax must stick with her marriage at whatever cost for their son’s sake, and she let Alice end the call with a cheery, ‘Must dash.’

Oh, Kes. Her chest and arms ached with the need to hug him, to breathe in the silken top of his head. She needed to hear his voice.

They’d all be out walking now, the traditional Forsyth yomp up to Arthur’s Seat before lunch, Kes on his father’s shoulders. She must try to smooth things over a bit, catch a word with her son to reassure him all was well in the world. She was still so jittery that she misdialled Mack’s mobile twice, then hung up on his voicemail, furious with herself for getting tearful again.

She headed upstairs to switch on the heater in her father’s old bedroom, perching on the end of the bed, discomfort mounting at the prospect of Luca occupying it, the memories of Johnny Ledwell so little stirred in years, now freshly scented with nostalgia and need.

The phone was ringing again. That, at least, was like the old days. It had rung endlessly then. She thundered down to answer it, certain it was Mack his time, the need for diplomacy pressing.

‘Lester’s fractured his hip.’ Ronnie was at her most no-nonsense, calling from a payphone in the hospital. ‘He’s absolutely livid about it and keeps telling everyone who’ll listen that he didn’t fall off.’

Pax could imagine his indignity. She moved closer to the window to watch rain fleck the sash’s panes.

‘At least he gets that hip replaced straightaway, and for free,’ Ronnie went on, ‘but it’s rather more serious than it would have been had he seen a bone man months ago. The fracture goes right down into his femur, poor chap. He’ll be in here at least a fortnight, then it’s very slow recuperation. The other one needs replacing before it goes the same way too, so he’ll not be back in his yard boots for months, and whether he’ll ride again is in doubt. Not a word of that to him or anyone else yet, of course. Has Bay gone?’ There was an edge to her voice.