‘Who’s that?’ Drew’s voice echoed from the black infinity.

She was suddenly blinded by a white beam of torchlight, and turned her head away. ‘Switch it off!’ she screeched at him. ‘It’s me. Maddy.’

The beam dipped a little as Drew, even wetter than she was, loomed out of the darkness. ‘You shouldn’t have come over. There was no need.’

‘Thanks a bunch.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I just thought you might need some help. As you don’t, I’ll just go again.’

‘Don’t.’ His voice was lost in a roll of thunder. ‘Sorry. I’m just bloody wet and uncomfortable. Thanks, Maddy, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do.’

No, there probably isn’t, she thought, flinching as a particularly wicked crack of lightning sizzled towards them. Probably Angie’s already done it.

He rocked towards her, leaning backwards because of the wind. His black hair was plastered to his head. The flying jacket was the colour of jet. The rain had made ebony stars of his eyelashes. Maddy looked at him in the dipping torchlight and knew she would never love anyone else.

‘Are the horses OK?’

‘Yes. Except Solomon,’ Drew shouted. ‘The door of his box blew open when the storm started. I can’t find him. The other horses were getting pretty restless. I needed someone to help.’

‘I’m here. I’ll help.’ Maddy thought of sweet, placid Solomon, who had given her so much confidence and enjoyment, and wanted to cry. ‘He can’t have got far, can he?’

Drew shrugged. ‘He’s not in any of the corners of the yard. I’ve been up and down the road. I don’t think he could have got out – he didn’t really like the cobbles. I just thought if he’d strayed towards the main road …’

Maddy clapped her icy hands to her mouth. ‘Don’t even think about it. Have you got another torch?’

Drew handed her a cudgel-sized torch from his pocket which nearly slipped from her frozen fingers. He smiled. ‘Thanks – you don’t have to do this, you know.’

‘Of course I do.’ She turned away quickly. ‘I suppose Angie didn’t want to get wet …’ She’d already moved away and his reply was drowned by a clap of thunder.

She found herself calling Solomon as you would a straying cat, and immediately stopped. Weren’t horses supposed to respond to whistles? She pursed her numb lips and tried. Nothing came out.

She followed the torch’s bouncing beam all around the yard. The storm was demonic and showed no signs of abating. Everything groaned and creaked and rattled beneath the onslaught. There was no sign of Solomon.