He crossed himself, which she didn’t find funny.

‘You think if you drink it’ll shame me out of it, but I refuse to have you on my conscience.’ Pax felt another flash of anger at his martyrdom. ‘You can end up legless in a ditch for all I care, playing dirges on that violin. Because, when it comes down to it, you can’t stop me drinking any more than I can stop you.’

Across the field, cups were being filled from a ceremonial jug, a few huzzahs raised, the parish chair still droning on about the tradition of tree blessing.

He said nothing for a long time, then, ‘Thanks for the explanation. And there was me thinking we might simply get fluthered one last time before Step One.’

‘This isn’t like you, Luca.’

‘That’s the thing. It’s very like me. The old me you’ve never met. I thought it was time I introduced him. I don’t think you’ll like him overmuch. And I warn you, he’ll serenade you from the ditch later. Any requests?’

She crossed her arms. ‘Please stop this.’

‘You said it yourself, Pax,’ his voice stayed soft, unhurried, ‘you can’t make me stop any more than I can you. Although this stuff is awful enough to do it.’ He tossed the contents of the second cup in the grass, looking up with a smile that glinted in the half-light.

Pax felt a rush of relief, in desperate need of strong, principled Luca. Then she watched, dismayed, as he flipped open the violin case and pulled out a quarter-size bottle of whisky from a compartment alongside the bow. ‘No self-respecting fiddler travels without poitín.’

Pax wanted to turn and walk away, but her legs refused to move. ‘Luca, don’t.’

‘I forgot you prefer spirits.’ He poured a measure, offering it to her. ‘Save you running home.’

She hardly dared breathe, her need was so great. Damn him for knowing. ‘What’s got into you?’

The smile flashed and faded. ‘You, Pax.’

Surprise kept her rooted to the spot.

For a moment Pax let the frisson quiver through her, assumptions jettisoned, feeling strangely high. But then she fell just as fast, and kept falling, into deep, dark self-doubt. This absolutely couldn’t happen. Nobody had seen her so raw as Luca had. She was a woman who had thrown away her marriage, carried family secrets, pushed her son away – and now she’d even driven her kind, patient minder to drink. She couldn’t take him under with her while the storm was still raging in her broken life, its whirlpools like black holes. They could never be trusted together drunk. One of them had to stay on dry land.

‘No way.’ She took the cup from him, raised it in a toast and poured its contents out onto the grass.

‘Good girl.’

‘That’s what you wanted?’

He nodded, turning the bottle in his hand so it caught glints of flame light. ‘Forgive me.’

‘You’re only trying to help.’

‘Not for that.’