He felt, rather than heard, Lily’s return. She approached him cautiously, but she needn’t have. He welcomed her presence. Wanted it. She placed the bags of food and retrieved two wine glasses she’d nestled within them and rested them on the table, passing him the corkscrew.

She sat at the bench and turned her face into the setting sun, letting him uncork the wine and pour the full-bodied alcohol into their glasses. She inhaled the aroma appreciatively.

‘You didn’t let it breath,’ she accused lightly on her exhale.

‘Shut up and drink your wine,’ he replied jokingly.

‘Which one is this?’ she asked.

‘My eighteenth. I’m surprised it hasn’t turned to vinegar.’

‘I’m not,’ she replied, almost serenely. ‘Blake knew what he was doing by then.’ She shifted slightly as he came to sit beside her and raised her glass to his. ‘Happy birthday,’ she smiled.

‘It’s not my—’

‘Shut up and drink your wine,’ she teased.

The rich red liquid was so deep it was almost purple. An explosion of blackcurrant and spice that made his mouth water filled his senses and he clung to the trace of vanilla left on his tongue. It was a light wine, but it packed a delicious punch.

‘Wow,’ he couldn’t help but exclaim.

Lily nodded knowingly. ‘It’s good, right? He did love that Pinot Noir.’

‘Yes, it is and yes, he did.’

For a moment, Henry marvelled in the fact that he was drinking something created by his father. Something that had been bottled and put aside just for him. He tried to ignore the fact that he might have been able to share this with his father, but for some reason, it felt especially right that he was sharing it with Lily Atwell.

Before he could change his mind, he prised open the envelope that had come with this bottle of wine and retrieved the slip of paper.

Dear Henry,

Today is your eighteenth. Today you become a man. And no matter the arguments and what you think of me, I am proud of the person you are becoming.

With love,

Your father

‘Did he write that after your argument, do you think?’ she asked.

‘Not necessarily. We were arguing a lot by that point,’ Henry mused.

‘So, what did you do?’

‘When?’

‘On your birthday. After you left the estate?’ she asked, taking another sip of the wine, unaware of the sudden sharp stab of pain that cut into his heart. And guilt. Because he’d not really given it much thought in the years since, but …

‘That was the night I met Claudia for the first time.’

Lily forced herself to swallow the wine on her tongue. It suddenly felt as if they were venturing into an area that they had silently agreed not to broach. Not once had they mentioned the accident, the events of the night of the summer ball or really what had happened after.