The front of the house was equally as stunning as the back. The windows were smaller, but there was an impressive set of wooden steps leading up to a double-wide front door, an extensive vegetable plot on one side and what appeared to be a workshop and log store on the other.

The overall impression was tranquil, organised, nature-friendly living. It looked amazing.

As I approached the house, lugging a cool bag crammed with foil cartons, there was a soft woof behind me, and I turned to see the collies sitting calmly on the gravel by the workshop. A couple of seconds later, Sam emerged from its open roll-top door, wiping his hands on a towel. He was wearing a chequered shirt again, over dark green shorts, and I had to redirect my brain away from the memory of what he looked like underneath it.

‘Hey!’ He broke out into a smile that was far from warranted, given previous events. I was starting to realise that Sam’s default mood was happy.

‘Hi.’ I managed a nod, but not quite a smile, in return. For now I was relieved not to have imploded into a gibbering heap of humiliation.

‘No Nesbit?’ He grinned, walking over to join me at the bottom of the steps.

I shook my head firmly. ‘He’s enjoying the confinement of my garden.’

‘So my chickens are safe for now?’ he asked, eyes sparkling in a way that lit up my rebellious heart. ‘I think they were fearing for their lives after last night’s invasion. Tom would have readily singled one out for sacrifice if he could have persuaded someone else to be executioner.’

‘You have live chickens?’

‘Six, out the back. Purely for the eggs, though.’

‘Lovely!’ I nodded, before finding that my ability to converse had absconded, replaced by an inexplicable compulsion to keep nodding.

‘Can I help you with that? It looks heavy,’ Sam said, thankfully breaking the nodding loop by gesturing to the cool bag.

‘Actually, it’s for you. Well, you and your family. I didn’t get a chance to count heads yesterday, but I’ve gone for a generous ten.’

‘Eleven.’ He gave me a hopeful look. ‘Is it edible?’

‘I sincerely hope so.’ I tried to hold out the bag, but it was too heavy so I ended up dropping it at his feet.

‘Tell me more.’ Sam smiled so wide that a dimple appeared on one cheek. I tried not to stare.

‘Okay, I’ve roasted two organic chickens with a few herbs and lemon. There’s classic potato and then sweet potato and feta salads, apple and sultana coleslaw, a tomatoey thing, some honey mustard cocktail sausages – outdoor-bred pork, of course. Rosemary focaccia, rye sourdough… um… some couscous, lemon drizzle cheesecake and chocolate brownies.’

Sam stared at me for a moment, his frozen smile in contrast to furrowed eyebrows. ‘A chicken would have been more than enough.’