‘Are you mad?’ Ronnie was indignant. ‘Beck attacks other horses. Put him next to another stallion and he jumps out even with the grille. I’ve seen him barrel it clean off the door at the last yard.’

‘Isolating stallions is the worst thing you can do to them. Now you and I need to be quiet,’ he hushed her as the grey went down through the gears to a floaty trot before stopping dead with a hydra shake of his head.

He was staring at Luca, snorting suspiciously, ready to go up again, brutality on a hair trigger. The once-familiar bond between them was a spectre, shape-shifting and indistinct.

Luca waited, his own eyes staying on Ronnie.

The horse stamped an indignant foot.

Still he waited.

Beck bellowed.

Luca gave Ronnie the ghost of a wink.

Slowly, suspiciously, serpent head tossing, Beck moved closer. They’d done this before, he and Luca.

He waited until he could feel his breath on his shoulder. Only then did he use his voice again, low and soothing, reassuring him that he was in a safe place, that Luca had his back now, that he wouldn’t let him out of his sight again.

He then turned and swiftly clipped on the head collar.

As Beck dropped his head in surprise, Luca sent a silent apology, knowing he’d just taken a circus trick shortcut. To regain a horse’s trust took infinitely longer, but it was the quick fixes that pleased the crowds. And he wanted to please.

‘I always forget how easy you make it look.’ She was thrilled, holding the gate open for them, beaming as they passed. ‘I could watch you all day.’

He turned, remembering how gratifying her blue-sky enthusiasm was, the intimacy with which she praised. Touché, Mrs Ledwell.

Growing up, Luca’s school friends had resentfully ribbed him about the fact that working with difficult horses attracted some girls faster than any number of hours of bench-pressing, a fireman’s uniform and a bottle of baby oil. His four brothers all took regular advantage of this, especially showjumper Donal who was knee-high to a stable door with a face like a fruit bat, yet always had girlfriends who looked like models. Their father, a bandy-legged, balder fruit bat, had used his horse skills to woo their beautiful mother. In Germany, whenever Ronnie had visited Gestüt Fuchs, Luca had often outridden everyone else entirely for her benefit.

‘Let’s get this house move underway!’ She overtook them as they walked back to the yard, hurrying ahead to start making up a bed in the stable beside Cruisoe.

Ignoring Beck performing a snorting sideways dance beside him, Luca yawned as he admired her perfect apple-shaped backside. Still up there in his top three. She’d always been far too classy for a rogue like Henk, who everyone knew was a deviant. He doubted Blair Robertson was much better.

Taking advantage of his distraction, the stallion caught him a nip on the arm, so staple-gun sharp that he couldn’t breathe for a moment.