‘I must. Goodbye, Mrs Hilton.’ He dropped his hand from the door and the action was like a gesture of despair. He took a step forward, but still he did not look back. He walked away from her and though she stood watching him through the dusk all the way to the gate and into the lane, not once did he turn or wave.

By the set of his shoulders, it was as if he were afraid to look back at her.

Esther lay awake for most of the night haunted by the feel of the feather-light touch of his fingers on her cheek and then his sudden brusqueness.

She could not bear to think of his leaving in the morning, knowing that she would never see him again. She groaned aloud and buried her head in the softness of her pillow. What was she thinking of? What was the matter with her? She was a married woman with a child. She had only just met him and yet when she closed her eyes, she could see his face so vividly; his smile, the kind blue eyes, and yet his jawline was firm and his handsome face showed strength and honesty . . .

The following morning seemed to drag and Esther found herself watching the lane leading from the Point to the town. The lane he must walk down when he left. She snapped at Kate every time the child tried to catch her attention. She raced through the milking, even shouting at Clover and slapping her rump sharply when the cow moved restlessly, to be repaid by the cow kicking over the pail of milk and wasting it all.

Common sense would have told her she was being foolish and very unfair to Kate – and the animals.

But common sense seemed to have deserted her.

By lunch time when Enid arrived, Esther was so irritable that she decided that the only thing to do was to go up to her favourite spot at the end of the Spit to see if the place where the land and the sea and the sky became one would soothe and calm her – and maybe bring her to her senses.

Beyond the lane she climbed over the bank and crossed the marshland towards the East Dunes heading for the beach.

He’ll have gone by now, she told herself firmly. She must have missed seeing him pass by her farm gate. Yes, she reminded herself sharply, her farm gate. That was all that mattered. Her farm, her land.

She reached the Spit and walked the length of it, breathing in the sea air deeply. She bent and picked up a handful of earth, clutching it in her hand, holding it close to her body in that space beneath her ribs where she had felt, and still felt, that peculiar fluttering of nervousness when she saw Jonathan Godfrey – or even thought of him.