‘You’re right,’ he agreed under his breath, shaking the rope in reproof. ‘Work comes first.’

There was no hot water washdown, he discovered, resorting to an old-fashioned sponge before putting Beck back in his old stable, rugged up to dry off while he helped Ronnie haul straw bales into the horse’s new quarters to break up and bank up, listening as she recounted the stallion’s unruliness. ‘He jumped straight out of one of the stallion paddocks and took off across the village just before Christmas. Climbed on a mare out hacking. It was awful. Lucky not to get sued.’

Learning that Beck was only ever turned out in solitary confinement, usually in early mornings before the mares went out – the opposite end of the day to Cruisoe who watched the sun go down – Luca insisted both stallions needed their own fields all day.

Ronnie shook her head vehemently. ‘They’ll kill each other.’

‘If there’s lots to eat, plus plenty of thorn hedge and electric wire between them, they’ll be fine. And Beck needs a companion. Something small and fearless. He’s scared of his own shadow.’

‘A sacrificial goat?’

‘A pony would be better.’

‘“Companions are for ladies” my father used to say.’ She laughed. ‘If Lester gets wind of all this, he’ll have the nurses pushing his hospital bed here from Coventry Hospital to put a stop to it.’

From what little he’d gleaned of the elderly, broken-hipped hunting devotee, Luca suspected he’d be hitching the bed to a towbar and driving it straight back.

As he’d predicted, the two new next-door neighbours had a brief bout of furious stallion bellyaching and snorting, like neighbours well versed in bin and parking disputes, then settled to their hay nets to regroup, both quietly pleased to have something new to think about.

‘I think we’ll turn him round, don’t you?’ Ronnie was in her power pose. ‘You’re exactly what he needs. We’ll have him right in no time. How long are you thinking it will take?’ she asked, gathering up rugs, ever impatient. ‘When’s our deadline?’

Luca suspected it could take months. He thought about her offer to take him straight to Germany if he couldn’t do it. ‘We’ll know by Valentine’s Day.’

‘I’ll love you by then if that’s true.’ She laughed.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

9

‘C’mon, kochanie, you love having me all to yourself.’

‘You’ve abandoned our babies in a foreign country!’

‘In my homeland, Bridge.’

Shocked that Aleš had left their children in Poland without consulting her, Bridge was determined to get an apology from him. Flavia and Zak would be flying home with his brother’s family tomorrow, and even though she knew they’d be perfectly safe, and they loved their wujek and ciocia, and that it was lovely to have just made carefree love all over the house, she still wanted a sorry. Just a little one.

The argument, which had been going in circles so long she was feeling dizzy, was typical of the Mazurs. Feeling aggrieved about something – usually justifiably – Bridge would buzz and needle and rag until big, patient Aleš conceded with a grand romantic gesture. Or exploded. It was a calculated gamble.