‘Go ahead, why doncha? I’ll knock for Pax and follow with the kids in a bit.’

Carly was gone faster than smoke. The moment she did, Jackson started bawling, setting Zak off.

Lacking her usual breezy cool, Bridge hovered by the cottage gate with a heavyweight screamer on each hip. She bellowed at the older boys to get away from a lethal-looking rusty chaff-cutter; Sienna was draping Flavia with binder twine.

The door in the wall opened before she knocked. Bridge recognised the signs: bloodshot eyes, red-tinged nose, dry and swollen upper lip. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry! You poor things. That was so rude of me.’

‘Is it the ex?’ Bridge secretly relished the prospect of some insider dirt.

‘No, nothing like that.’

The smile surprised her, the deep voice hypnotising, the gather-up-all organisation effortless, Jackson lifted and muted with a nose-rub within seconds.

‘Do you want a cup of tea and a chat?’

‘Really, it’s all fine. Let me show you round before it gets dark. Let’s go, everyone!’

She was a Boudicca of self-control, Bridge realised with grudging admiration, watching the children gathering like eager Von Trapps and wishing Carly was still there.

*

Luca was grateful he didn’t need to tell Carly anything twice. It was clear her reactions were lightning quick: mind, hands and hair-trigger sharp tongue.

‘Muck out, turn out, pick out, skip out,’ she rapped coolly, ‘tie-up, rug-up, mix-up, fill-up. Not necessarily in that order. Have I missed one?’

He grinned, shaking his head. He was looking forward to having her on the yard. She reminded him of an acerbic German groom he’d worked alongside years ago who could muck out a stable in four minutes, liked horses far more than people and ran back-to-back marathons for fun.

‘Let’s get this yard swept and we’ll put the kettle on. Give that here…’ She took the yard brush from him, making short work of clearing hay and stray wood shavings from the cobbles. ‘That Pax isn’t much of a one for offering guests a cup of tea, is she? She’s got the right hump with me.’

‘How so?’

When she explained that her baby had dug out some old letters from under a cupboard he felt uneasy, realising they must be the ones he’d stuffed there after the puppy had shredded them. He tried to remember what he’d read in them, the love letters written in two old-fashioned hands.

‘Pax on the yard much at weekends, is she?’ Carly asked leadingly, clearly hoping not.

‘We all muck in, depending what needs doing. Sure, we’re all pretty new here, and the work’s always there if you look for it.’ He thought back to the previous weekend. While Ronnie had vanished like a shot the moment Blair rolled up, Pax had taken her mind off Kes being with his father by undertaking a gargantuan sort-out of the tack room, unearthing all manner of museum pieces. There had been no shortage of tea that day, swigged while boggling at kinky-looking vintage bits and leatherwork. Worried she wasn’t eating, he’d also made her falafels for lunch which he later spotted in Laurence the fox’s cage.