‘Is that house a suitable place for Sassy to be staying at the moment?’

‘Not really. She keeps asking me when Opa will get better. I’ve tried to tell her gently that he might not, but it’s hard. Today she asked me if he was going to go to heaven like Tilly did.’

Tilly had been an Irish setter we had bought after one of our other dogs had been killed on a road. Very sadly, Tilly then died of bloat and a twisted gut aged only one and a half, and it had taken Saskia a long time to get over the loss. So distressed had she been by Tilly’s death that she opposed our plans to buy her another puppy, just in case it happened again.

‘She has been asking me if she can go to Annabel’s birthday party,’ I said.

‘I know, I heard. She’s been asking me the same thing, all the time, and also about her getting a phone.’

Our little girl was nothing if not determined. Just like her parents.

‘When is the party?’ I asked.

‘A week on Saturday.’

‘That’s still twelve days away. Let’s see how things develop.’

‘In what way?’ she asked.

‘I meant with your dad.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. And let’s see how other things develop too.’

‘Right, we will.’ I took a breath. ‘But, in the meantime, I plan to be off to Middleham in the morning to make some waves. And I’m going to ask Charles to look after Rosie, in case I’m not back in time to feed her.’

‘Okay. But, Sid, please be careful.’

So she did care.

Very early on Tuesday morning, having dropped Rosie off at Aynsford, this time with a supply of her usual dog biscuits, I drove my dark-blue Land Rover Discovery, complete with distinctive number plate, MY S1D, north from Oxfordshire to the Yorkshire Dales.

To make some waves, I’d said to Marina. But, given the seriousness of the situation, maybe causing a tsunami might be more fitting. So I had to produce an earthquake.

I drove into Middleham just before nine o’clock in the morning and, as always at this time of day, there were several strings of racehorses either making their way through the town to the exercise gallops, or home again afterward.

At the top end of the town, near the castle, is the fifteenth-century Swine Cross, a set of double-sided steps surmounted by two large blocks, one of which was once the base for a market cross.

I parked nearby and went and stood on the top of the steps.

As the strings of horses passed, I caused my earthquake.