Danny nodded. ‘This is going to kill her!’ he murmured and then added bitterly, ‘Your mam has got a lot to answer for.’

Kate pulled back a little. ‘My mam? Why, what has my mam got to do with it?’ Her voice became harsher in her frustration at still not being able to understand fully. ‘Danny, what do you mean?’

‘Me dad ses . . . ‘ he began and then hesitated, as if suddenly realizing the enormity of the revelation. Robert Eland, the man who had loved him, reared him, been everything to him that anyone could wish for in a father, was not his natural father; was not, in fact, even a blood relative.

In his agitation, Danny ran his strong fingers into his hair and grasped a handful, as if he would pull it out by the roots. He took a deep breath to steady himself and yet, when he spoke, his voice still shook. ‘It seems,’ he said slowly, as if he still couldn’t – or wouldn’t – believe what he was telling Kate, ‘Your dad – Matthew – and my mam were walking out together when your mother arrived here to work for old Sam Brumby on the farm. Matthew was after anything in skirts, me dad ses.’ Still Danny could not break the habit of a lifetime. Robert Eland was, to him, his father. He cleared his throat and went on. ‘Matthew chased after Esther and when Sam Brumby died, they got married and he moved into the farm with her – and left me mam pregnant with me.’

Kate gasped. ‘Oh, how could he?’

‘Evidently – very easily,’ Danny said bitterly.

‘But yar mam wouldn’t . . . I mean . . .’ Kate began, then stopped.

They stared at each other. ‘I suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘she was young and – and in love.’ His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. ‘Just like us, Katie.’

Kate’s eyes widened and she gasped. ‘We almost did, didn’t we?’

He nodded. ‘Thank goodness we stopped in time.’

Kate shivered suddenly as a chill wind blew in from the sea. Her voice broke on a sob. ‘I – wish we had done it!’

He held her close again, resting his cheek against her ruffled hair. ‘Now – we can’t – ever.’ His arms tightened around her as if he would never let her go.

‘I still don’t understand it all,’ she murmured.

‘Nor me. All I know is,’ he added grimly, ‘what they did has wrecked our lives even all this time after.’

‘You’re only a few months older than me. It can’t be true. I won’t let it be!’

His tone was flat with misery. ‘I – think it is, Katie. If you think about it – looking back – it explains a lot of things.’

‘What?’

‘Why your mam and mine never speak to each other; why she sent you away to school and why, when that went wrong and you came home, she still tried to keep us apart.’