So I had. At the arrival of the troops, my smile had been charm itself. I tied on an apron and, like a Tupper-ware Queen, began tossing steaks and potatoes into a frying pan, opening doors to let the smell of onions and beef create its own temptations, and as the evening dragged slowly and painfully on, Winfred’s window of opportunity had opened ever wider.

But now the dirty plates are in the sink, the crate of beer finished and the men ready for their after-dinner games. Most are dressed in their camouflage. All of them are armed. Hogan thrusts his arms into a padded vest, jamming a flashlight and strips of plastic ties into the multitude of breast pockets stitched onto the front. Into a further drop-down pouch below the waist he slides a handgun, then Velcros the lower straps of the vest tightly over his stomach. On the arm of his shirt, yellow embroidery patches have been sewn, their titles – Operation White Mouse, Operation Tumbleweed – broadcasting the success of previous missions. If Robert is taken aback by the show of fire power, his natural bullishness doesn’t allow him to acknowledge it. He looks from Hogan to the other men as trousers are tucked into boots and floppy hats are wedged on heads. ‘This is quite a show you’re putting on here, Jeff. I’m not sure I was expecting—’

‘Why would you be?’ Hogan comments genially. He hands Robert a pair of night-vision goggles. ‘Seeing as you come from a civilized kind of a country. You don’t have our border issues.’ He waves at one of his boys, who lumbers over. ‘Tucker, this is Mr Coleman. He owns this property here and tonight he is an honorary member of Ranch Rights. I want you to take him to Bob and let him choose himself a decent weapon.’

Bob grabs Robert’s hand and gives it a good shaking. ‘You’re doin’ the right thing, Robert. We’re all neighbours here, local landowners. Trust me, this has worked on my property, it’s worked on other properties nearby. Now,’ he hands him a gun from the back of his car, ‘try this on for size. It’s a high-powered huntin’ rifle, with high-impact bullets.’ He lets Robert handle the gun for a minute before exchanging it for another.

‘This here’s the Bushmaster, an AKA2. It has a nice chrome-lined barrel. Expensive gun. In fact my daddy uses this gun, but some folks prefer the Mossberg Tactical.’ He produces a long-barrelled shotgun. ‘It ain’t as precise as the Bushmaster, but it’s sure a lot cheaper. Go ahead, try it. It’s tricked out with some pretty little features.’ He watches approvingly as Robert discovers the quick-release button. ‘Take whichever floats your boat, pardner.’

‘Cool.’ Jack has made his escape from my side. He snatches at the gun. ‘Let me try it!’

‘Jack!’ I shout after him.

‘Mum, come on,’ he wheedles.