‘And the children?’

‘She insisted we’d come back when things had cooled down, spend summers in Canada, make it work. She said they belonged on the farm, that their father and grandparents would look after them better than we could.’

Pax felt the punch of recognition to her throat, her voice winded. ‘Just like my mother.’

‘When I said I didn’t see a future for us any more, she went full-scale banjax and said she’d tell her dad I’d pushed myself on her the summer she’d got married and that Dizzy was the result.’

‘That’s awful!’

‘No worse than Mack’s threats, I’ll bet.’

Pax chewed her lip, knowing Mack had no need to lie about her shabby past, and that his discretion was something she could no longer rely upon. She shivered. Without the engine running, the car was turning into an ice box.

‘We’d a filthy row,’ Luca went on. ‘We’d both had a skinful by then. She knows stuff about me that could get me into a lot of hot water. When you drink and argue, you get to the stage where there’s nothing you won’t threaten, don’t you? She held my fiddle over the fire saying she’d burn it if I didn’t change my mind. It was my great-grandpa’s; I’d lugged it so many times round the world I’d lost count.’

‘She burned it, didn’t she?’

He rubbed his mouth, stopping the nervous smile, that all-consuming twitch that charmed all comers. ‘After she did it, she let me go without another word. When an Irishman says enough, he means enough.’ Raking his hair with his fingers, rings glittering, he looked away. ‘So I flew here, drinking all the while. First person I met was a fellow lush who threw up all over me, told me I wasn’t wanted and shouted a lot. Suicidal secret habit she’s got going on there. If helping her stop takes boring her with a load of old heartache I’ve never told another soul, so be it.’ He turned to her, offering his hand. ‘My name is Luca and I have an alcohol problem.’

She shook it, surprised it felt so warm. Hers was freezing. ‘I’m Patricia and I owe you an apology. You totally get the plum gin vibe. I’m sorry I misjudged you.’

Thinking back to washing up Christmas lunch a fortnight earlier, she realised it made no difference if it was Taylor slinging Martinis at Burton in Beverly Hills or a despairing Cotswold wife waving a Dishmatic at her husband – drinking made break-ups toxic.

‘And I’m sorry I was so awful when you arrived.’ She held his gaze.

‘It pulled my head out of my arse.’

‘The first reaction I always aim for.’

His mouth twisted a smile away and he dipped his head. ‘Will you let me help you now?’ When he looked up, it didn’t feel like criticism any more, but friendship.

She nodded, watching as he reached into his coat and drew out a tightly folded piece of paper. ‘They meet every Thursday.’