‘Hard to tell. Perhaps he thinks I’m his mate – certainly a source of food. I don’t love him for his brains, that’s for sure, though he has a certain engaging guile connected with food, but I like to think we have an odd sort of rapport on another level. It may all be in my imagination.’ She made a deprecating face. ‘Don’t laugh, but I tell him things . . . I ask for his help . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I know it sounds silly. I can’t explain it.’

‘Maybe he’s the grown-up version of what teddy bears once did for us when we were kids – something that was vitally important as far as I was concerned. Perhaps he’s your prayer wheel, your rosary . . . but also your touchstone to help you clarify your own thoughts. He’s . . .’ Marnie searched for the right word. ‘He’s your go-between; an intermediary between the everyday self and the spiritual bit that wants to communicate with the divine.’

Louisa looked at her with surprise. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. That’s it exactly. How did you know?’

But Marnie, having ventured with such unexpected empathy into Louisa’s emotional world, seemed to withdraw again, shying away from the intimacy of the moment like a startled horse. Louisa half expected to see her gallop off across the hill.

‘Tell about the hawking,’ said Marnie. ‘You mentioned that your friend, the one who rescued Mr Brown, was into falconry.’

‘Umm . . . Adam. He’s always been mad on it. He first got me hooked when I was about fourteen.’ Louisa returned to more neutral ground and told Marnie about the thrill of flying hawks either to a lure or after live game. ‘You feel you’re not just spectating but have become part of the countryside, part of nature itself – exciting, sometimes brutal nature. You feel primitive – part of the wind and the moorland. Nothing to do with a sentimentalised version of wildlife. It’s terrific. Adam first started with a kestrel and then got a Harris hawk, though he’s flown black kites and eagle owls and various falcons too. He’s brilliant at training them. I still love going out hawking with him but it doesn’t happen very often now – only when we go home to our respective families in Yorkshire. We’ve been living and working in London for several years. Adam’s a serious-minded lawyer but he becomes another person out on the hill.’

‘And what’s happened to him now?’ asked Marnie. ‘Not to Mr Brown, I mean, but Adam? Do you still have a relationship?’

‘Did,’ said Louisa, rather sadly. ‘We did. But we’ve just split up – my doing. I’d still like to be friends but I need to move on. Unfortunately he didn’t feel the same way and he was very upset. I feel terrible about him. He’s been my rock for years – and now I’ve chucked him.’