Oliver strode abruptly to the window, his silhouette unmistakably similar to Bartholomew’s who had stood there a short time before. He looked out at the same scene, the parsonage back garden where autumn leaves were scattered over the neatly cut lawn and beneath the solitary apple tree. And beyond, the silvery shimmer of the sea over the tops of the shabby cottages in the village below.

‘I never had any brothers and sisters,’ he said numbly, ‘they all died in infancy. I’d always yearned for family life. I didn’t know what it was like until I married Kerensa and we had the children. Before that I was lonely most of the time, even more so when my closest friend died on the battlefield. And yet all those years, all those years you schooled me as a child, I had a brother…’

‘I’ll pour you a glass of port wine while you take it all in, Oliver,’ the Reverend said soothingly.

‘Damn your blasted port wine!’ Oliver raged, thrusting his arms up in the air with hands held claw-like. ‘Don’t you understand what this means to me, you old fool? I had a brother out there!’ He stabbed one hand at the sea. ‘I always wanted a brother, someone I could talk to, share things with. A brother with a family – a sister-in-law, nephews, nieces. Now I find I did have a brother! But it’s too late. He died just a few months ago. For God’s sake, Joseph Ivey, I had a brother. And you knew. You knew. I had the right to know. I had the right, damn you!’

The terrible thunder of his violent outburst shattered the Reverend’s composure. He had risen to his feet but fell back heavily in his chair, scattering the notes of his revised sermon and knocking a glass of water on top of the papers. He was blinking rapidly and had to cough several times before he could speak.

‘I, I, I… um… please c-calm yourself… I, I implore you, Oliver… I… I…’ Water dripped on to his black clerical clothes.

Oliver sped across the room and thumped both fists on the desk. The Reverend jumped at his fury. Then the sparks died out from Oliver’s eyes and as though he was suddenly exhausted he slumped down into a chair. It seemed as though something deep inside him, part of his personality, part of the man himself, had died.

After a prolonged heavy silence he gave a shuddering breath. ‘I’m sorry, Joseph. Did I frighten you badly?’

The Reverend called on all the years of his experience to cope with the situation. ‘No, I… no… Oliver… I’m so sorry about your distress… I would like to explain a little more but… but I fear it will cause you even more pain. You see, Samuel did not want you to know…’