First, though, the dreaded windmill. After a retired electrical engineer had made a compelling case against the windmill and spoken knowledgeably and, it has to be said, at some length about load factors and topple lengths, the village had basically voted to a man against it. Furthermore, under encouragement from a hardcore of Spodders, among them Sophy, it was suggested that Ned should coppice his woods, convert to woodchip and use a biomass boiler instead (as had already been agreed by the eco-village in an earlier meeting), as biomass boilers were more energy efficient and less visually intrusive than the windmill. And that wasn’t all. The village also decided that Ned should pay the Spodders to do it rather than the other way round, in true the-peasants-are-revolting fashion.

Ned had stormed out to the pub. Jesse Marlon wasn’t even there at the meeting. After his support for Ned at the dinner party and at the village hall, I thought that was a little odd. At least I did think it was odd until Mrs Hitchens leant over and told me, in a stage whisper, that Jesse Marlon Bryanston was in Godminster police station, being interviewed.

‘What for?’ I whispered back.

‘Rape,’ Mrs Hitchens hissed. I turned to look at Garry from the pub indignantly – why on earth had he told me it was Colin Watts, the creep? – but he would not look at me. Jesse Marlon and rape? My heart somersaulted. I knew it wasn’t possible and, although I had, of course, moved on, I knew I had to be there for him.

So I went to the pub after the meeting, which I thought was very brave of me.

When Sir Michael returns with Ned’s double scotch, and places it carefully on the wobbly table, Ned takes it to his lips and sips bleakly. I am not saying much. Granville is trying to comfort him over how things have turned out, while conveying non-verbally his disbelief that my (ex-) boyfriend Jesse Marlon may or may not be the village rapist, and not his (future) son-in-law, Colin. It’s a complicated message to get over, I allow, but I have to say that Granville manages it with grace and humanity.

‘Listen, Ned, a deal’s only a good deal if both sides feel a little bit screwed,’ he says, referring to the new arrangements with the Spodders and energy supply. We are grimly keeping away from the ghastly news about the police and the alleged sexual assault. ‘That’s how it works.’

‘But Granville, you great goose, I’ve been totally screwed!’ Ned protests. ‘With this new deal, they win hands down, and I lose! In all honesty, I wasn’t berserk about the windmill plan to start with,’ he continues in a quieter voice. ‘But I thought if I could be seen graciously to bow to pressure, it would build up enough goodwill…’

‘For what?’ I ask.