Sal had stoked the old copper boiler into life so she had hot water, then swept and scrubbed and scoured almost every inch of the back room and bar. There hadn’t been much she could do about the ruined furniture, but as men usually preferred standing at the bar while they drank, she didn’t think it mattered. As for the brass railings, she would get one of the men to fix them later.

Once she’d laid traps for any lingering rodents and cleared all the glass away, she’d let Brandy come downstairs. The dog had followed her about as she’d made a swift inventory of what was left in the way of drinks and had happily trotted along beside her as she’d gone over to Annie O’Halloran’s, explained the situation and persuaded her to help restock the bar and organise the food for the wake.

Annie had been in a generous mood, relieved that her husband had come home in one piece and was happily snoring in the back room leaving her to get on with things. She and Sal came to an arrangement whereby Sean would take over running the pub while Sal took a break, the cost of the drinks and food recouped from the takings. Sean was yet to learn of these arrangements, but Annie assured Sal that he’d do as he was told, and that she’d be in charge of the food until Sal was ready to take over the reins again.

Sal was exhausted by the time she’d accomplished all this, and she returned to the pub ready for a long hot soak in the bath. But as she traipsed up the stairs and entered the bedroom, her gaze fell on Max’s satchel. Sinking on to the bed, she unfastened the clasp and pulled out the sketchbook which he’d always refused to show her.

Her hands trembled and the tears rolled down her face as she turned each page and discovered just how deeply he’d loved her. For on every page he’d caught her likeness and drawn it with such tenderness that it shone from every line and curve. Here she was sitting by the fire in the cabin, Brandy at her feet while she read a book. And this one was drawn while she’d slept – the next while she sat in the grass beneath the trees with the ponies – and the last where she’d been perched on the rock, watching the storm.

She closed the book and held it to her heart. He had loved her deeply and truly, but had never had the courage to expose his secret and tell her. ‘Oh, Max,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘If only we could have been brave enough to say what was in our hearts. How different things might have been.’

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