‘Of course. He’s hardly love’s young dream, is he? And I had to let him down very gently, because he could have declared that it was too embarrassing for both of us and sacked me on the spot. As it turned out, he became very noble and left with a terribly brave and tragic look on his face. You could have cut butter with his chin. He turned at the door and told me that he thought my love for a departed hero was quite admirable, and that he would gladly sacrifice his own happiness for it. I do believe the man is looking to sacrifice himself for something continuously. I had to stuff a handkerchief in my mouth to stop myself giggling until he was out of earshot.’

Smith had been staring at her. ‘You’re brave.’

‘They say that about people who are dying. Like them, I do not see that I’ve ever had any choice to make.’

Smith folded her into his arms and kissed her.

A shadow fell over them. Joan opened her eyes, then suddenly jerked away from Smith, frantically brushing down her blouse. Smith looked up.

Timothy was standing there, smiling down at them.

‘Ah, Timothy, we were just’⁠ — Smith looked at Joan, who was looking away, quickly munching at a sandwich again⁠ — ‘having a picnic…’ he finished weakly.

‘I saw you here. I wanted to ask you something,’ said the dishevelled boy. ‘They’re learning how to be soldiers, back at the school.’

‘Shouldn’t you be there?’ Joan asked, relieved that the boy seemed not to have noticed the kiss.

Timothy sat down, his legs crossed, on the edge of the rug. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask about. I wanted to ask, don’t most soldiers get killed? Especially when there are machine-guns involved? Isn’t this a bad thing to teach them, in that case?’ His blue eyes stared at Smith, who fumbled with his tie awkwardly.

‘Questions like that, they’re too big for us…’ he muttered.

‘You see, my father said I would be a soldier, but I think that means I shall die. Or worse, that I shall kill other people. I don’t want to do it. What should I do?’

‘There’s a passage in Henry V that I could recommend. It’s not a sin to kill people if your sovereign’s ordered you to do it, because the decisions of war are between him and God. It’s not your fault if you’re obeying orders.’

‘So the murders are his fault?’

‘Well, in war it’s not exactly murder. There are bigger things involved. King and country, duty to your fellows. That sort of thing.’ Smith glanced at Joan, only to find that she was looking at the sheep in the next field, ignoring him. ‘Perhaps you could ask the vicar for some more help?’