‘Perhaps it will be safe to keep your own.’ She was doubtful.

‘They are a very common make.’

‘All right, then.’

In the kitchen Matilda cut up the discarded clothes and fed the bits into the Rayburn. Hugh sat watching her profile as she worked. What have I let myself in for? he wondered. He tried to place her among the women of his world and failed.

In the afternoon sun the garden shimmered with heat.

‘I shall have to water my vegetables. There’s been no rain.’

‘I’ll help you.’

‘You might be seen.’

‘Couldn’t I be a visitor?’

‘It’s not normal for me to have visitors.’

Matilda, putting the last sock into the Rayburn, sat back, her hands folded in her lap, silent.

People do shy away from the slightly loopy, Hugh thought. They don’t know what to say. If they are harmless they leave them alone. Watching her lids droop, he wondered whether sitting upright she would snore.

They sat companionably, both tired by the emotions of the past days.

It was Folly who heard the footsteps, first pricking her ears and looking from Hugh to Matilda. Hugh listened. Someone coming—a child on bare feet? Footsteps coming rather slowly from the copse. Was it a trick? A spy? Whoever it was, was coming on steadily. Folly growled. Hugh half rose then sat down again. He was cut off from the passage door by Matilda and could be seen through the open door from the garden. The footsteps were on the flagstones now. Matilda’s head jerked up. She cried out, rushed to the door. The footsteps stopped.

‘Gus!’ Matilda sprang out, swooping down in a birdlike movement. Her arms and Gus’s flapping wings made patterns in the sunlight. Gus raised his proud head, honked loud, then laid it across Matilda’s lap. She gathered him into her arms.

‘Gus, oh Gus! How did you get here? Oh Gus, it’s more than ten miles – your feet –’ She stroked his neck, his back, his breast. She examined each foot. ‘You hero!’

Hugh brought a bowl of water. The gander dipped his beak in the water, raised it high, looking at Hugh with an enraged blue eye.

‘It’s all right, Gus, he’s a friend.’ Gus snipped quickly at Hugh’s wrist and dabbed his beak at Folly who backed into the house, tail between her legs. ‘She’s a friend. Oh Gus, I betrayed you.’ Matilda sat inelegantly, her legs apart, skirt riding up. Gus made throttling noises, weaving his sinuous neck against her throat, nibbling her ears, tweaking her hair.

‘He’s made a frightful mess on your skirt.’

‘That’s love.’

‘Will it wash off?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s marvellous to have you back. We need you.’ She looked up at Hugh who was grinning. ‘We need him to protect us from prying eyes. Mr Hicks, for instance.’

‘Who is he?’