She took in the contents of the kitchen, noting the new touches Alice had made since Clem’s mother had died. Some of the ornaments on the mantelshelf were ones Alice had had in her room when she lived at the manor as Kerensa’s maid. The bellows leaning against the wall of the fireplace were on the lefthand side; Florrie Trenchard had always insisted they be kept on the right. On a little shelf beside a chair at the hearth she saw with irony a tinder box that she recognised as belonging to her late grandfather. Clem must have taken it from the cottage in Trelynne Cove after she and Old Tom Trelynne had left it deserted all those years ago. This room could have been her domain, she could have been Clem’s wife and shared his life with him here. With painful regret she wished she did not love two men. Even more painful was the fact that the one she needed the most at this moment could be halfway round the world, and might not even care.

‘Pity Mother isn’t here now,’ Kenver said, coming back with a mug of tea. ‘She was strong enough to have carried Jack home on her back and if Gran were alive she could have seen to you.’

‘Like I said, thank God you’re here, Kenver. I feel a bit safer,’ Kerensa said, gazing at him with blinking eyes. ‘It’s years since I was here last. You haven’t changed a bit.’

‘You have, you’ve changed a lot, Kerensa,’ he said, looking at her closely.

‘Have I?’

‘Yes. Even with your clothes all torn and your face scratched and dirty I can see you’re far more beautiful. Everyone says you are, and now I can see for myself. I’ll get that water I promised you and a cloth to wash your face.’

Kerensa gulped at the bitter strong tea and watched him ladle water from a pail behind the door into a small tin bowl. Kenver was an attractive young man, his flawless skin pale from a life spent mostly indoors. His hair was lighter than Clem’s, almost white like the twins’, his eyes a deep violet blue. If he could stand, Kerensa believed he would be nearly as tall as Clem, and even with his physical disability she thought if ever he chose to leave the farm he would turn many a girl’s heart.

Finishing the tea she put the mug on the deep windowsill. Kenver wheeled over and handed her a clean cloth, the one Alice used for washing the children. He kept the bowl of water on his lap.

‘When you’re ready,’ he said encouragingly.

‘You always were good to me, Kenver.’

‘I was a lovestruck boy of fifteen when I last saw you. I believed I loved you as much as Clem did.’