At last he said reluctantly, ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be getting on. Maybe I’ll see you when I come back?’

Esther nodded. She was conscious of her ruffled hair, her face shiny with sweat and the smell of horses still on her hands and clothes.

‘Thank you for your directions.’ He smiled again and began to walk away, glancing back once to give her a cheery wave, to which her hand fluttered nervously in response.

Close by her, just beyond the gate, Punch stamped his feet, lifted his head and whinnied loudly. Esther jumped, startled from her reverie by the sudden noise. She moved slowly down the lane towards her own farm gate, watching the striding figure as he reached the Hump and climbed to the top of the bank. She saw him pause, turn and look back once more towards her. Then he disappeared down the other side and was gone.

Esther hurried into the back scullery and sluiced cold water over her face. She ran lightly up the stairs and brushed frantically at her tangled curls until her hair gleamed. She bit her lip as she glanced down at her working clothes. Pulling open the top drawer of the chest she took out a clean white blouse and a starched pinafore.

He’ll be there now, she thought, meeting Ma Harris and being asked into her kitchen. She’ll sit him down and bustle about making tea and bringing out scones and cakes, wanting to hear his news, wanting to talk of Ernie and yet putting off the moment, postponing the renewal of the pain the visitor’s news must bring.

She’ll be sitting down too now, Esther imagined as she went downstairs and stood in the scullery looking out into the back yard, and beyond, into the lane. Ma would sit down at the scrubbed table and face the stranger across it and listen to what he had to tell her about Ernie.

How long would they talk? How long would it take for him to impart his message? And how long afterwards would he stay?

Esther rubbed her palms down her clean apron, turned away from the window and went back into, her kitchen, but a moment later she was back at the window. She went outside and stood in the centre of the yard, biting the edge of her thumb uncertainly. She didn’t want to intrude, yet she wanted to go down to Ma’s cottage.

She wanted to meet the stranger again.

‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’ she said aloud. ‘You’re a married woman!’

Still her feet would not take her back indoors to start getting Kate’s tea ready – which was what she should have been doing. A strange fluttering somewhere under her ribs would not let her dismiss the smile of the stranger quite so easily.