Almost by accident, Helen found that she was fond of Darcy and beginning to rely on the steady calm of his company. He wasn’t exciting, but he was utterly dependable. She discovered that his range of interests was limited – he cared about farming, the countryside, animals and his few friends – but his feelings for those were deep and genuine. Helen thought that he worried about Montcalm and his intimidating role there, but he was reticent about it and she tactfully avoided the topic.

Then quite soon, Helen saw that Darcy cared about her too. He was very gentle, almost tentative in suggesting places that they might go together, diffident in asking when he could see her again. But there was no pressure from him. Only once or twice, from the look in his eyes, did she see that she was more to him than just a friend to share his walks and meditative pints in country pubs.

The implications of that stabbed Helen with anxiety.

I shouldn’t let this happen, she told herself. It isn’t fair to him. But when she half resolved to see less of him, she missed his company at once. Why? she thought. Why cut off something that gives pleasure to us both out of some vague, groundless fear? I don’t want not to see Darcy any more. And so they had gone on together.

Without having talked about it, they had both accepted that their relationship was an exclusive one. They never saw anyone else. Helen never mentioned Darcy at Follies, and now they usually met in other places.

They’re all busy, Helen thought defensively. After the play is over, perhaps then we can all meet together. But the prospect was not an inviting one, and she put it quickly out of her mind.

One day Darcy took her to Mere.

The working half of the Montcalm estate was centred on a low-lying Cotswold village, honey-coloured stone cottages lying in a fold of rich farmland. As they drove through Mere village, Helen noticed that the pub sign was a brightly painted coat of arms with the name ‘Mortimore Arms’ above it. Almost simultaneously she saw a pair of farmers talking by the roadside. They touched their caps in greeting to Darcy as he drove past. Of course, she told herself. Darcy would be known and liked here, in his own home. It was only the rest of the world that didn’t care about him any more than he cared about it.