‘My pleasure, my dear, my pleasure.’ He bowed a little towards her, put on his hat and marched away across the yard, more purpose in his step than she had seen for some time.

Esther stood in the doorway of the barn, her hand on the rough wood of the jamb, and watched him go.

He had said nothing about the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm. The way he had talked – about her driving to market and taking Kate to school – it sounded as if he took it for granted she would be going on living here at the Point.

But would she be the legal tenant of the farm?

Now that the thought was in her mind, it would not let her rest and so it was that, three days later, she put on her best black costume and walked up the lane towards the Grange.

When she was shown into his study, the squire rose from a deep leather armchair by the long window overlooking the lawns and held out his hand to greet her. ‘My dear, come and sit down. I haven’t forgotten about the car, but I have not yet had the opportunity to strike a deal . . .’

Esther shook her head and remained standing in the centre of the room. ‘It isn’t about that, Squire.’

‘Then what is it, my dear? There’s nothing wrong, I hope? Please, do come and sit down here.’ He indicated a similar chair to his own set on the opposite side of the window.

Esther hesitated and then did as he bade.

How very different was her reception now, she was thinking as she settled herself in the chair, to the first time she had come into this room with wild, flying hair and muddy boots. She smiled inwardly at the memory, remembering her belligerence, her youthful indignation. Now she was older, and more than a little wiser, yet the sense of injustice was as strong as ever.

‘Squire,’ she began, picking her words carefully, surprising even herself at her deliberate tactfulness. ‘Like you I thought a lapse of time was appropriate, but I’m sure you will understand that I must know what my position is now.’

‘Your position, my dear? I don’t quite understand.’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.

She leant forward a little, towards him. ‘As regards the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm, Squire. The agreement was in Matthew’s name.’

The squire’s expression cleared. ‘Oh, that. Oh yes – well of course. Yes, I see what you mean. I really hadn’t given it a thought. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it. You see,’ he sighed heavily, ‘with Matthew going to the war, and you carrying on so admirably on your own, I accepted the fact that you were running the farm.’