He widened his eyes. ‘That’s it. OK.’

‘OK. I’m a little freaked but I’m trying my best to be cool about it and not turn into a damsel-in-distress who actually needs a hug.’

‘Hugs, I can do. Come here.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘You’re still amazingly calm. I can’t imagine any other woman taking things this much in her stride.’

She shrugged, desperately trying to be logical and sensible. ‘There’s no point having hysterics. The horse, or whoever it was, has bolted. I’m creeped out that they were here but they’ve gone now and it’s not like they’ve left a threat or stolen anything. They came in because they could. Might be kids or something. And like you say, I’ve got you here.’

‘God job I did karate in my youth.’

‘Did you?’

‘For three weeks,’ he admitted before adding more sombrely, ‘But Seamus and Peter won’t take any nonsense. They might look on the small side but you wouldn’t want to cross them.’

She managed a quick laugh, even though she didn’t feel like it. The thought of someone being in her bedroom made her feel a bit sick. Having Conor here definitely made her feel better. ‘We’ll keep the door locked then.’

‘You really are amazing,’ he said, walking forward and planting a kiss on her forehead. A warm glow spread inside her. She liked being amazing. He didn’t need to know she didn’t feel amazing inside.

‘Would you mind doing the honours?’ He nodded towards an open bottle on the kitchen table as he began to slice onions with his usual deft skill. She poured the velvety plum-coloured wine into two large fine glass goblets, admiring their elegant balloons. She’d never been fussy about glasses before but now, being with Conor, she thought he might have spoiled her for ever. Somehow the enjoyment of the wine was so much more in a nice glass.

‘Why is that?’ she mused holding up the glass to the light.

‘Why is what?’ Conor glanced up quickly.

‘Wine tastes better in proper glasses.’

‘It’s about being kind to yourself,’ he said, laying down his knife and picking up the second glass and chinking it against hers very gently. ‘Taking pleasure from those things is a way of celebrating the small things. It’s like taking time to cook a proper meal and using the best ingredients. People are prepared to spend a fortune on clothes, make-up, grooming products and yet they stuff all sorts of crap into their bodies.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me.’

‘I’d never thought about it before. Not before I came here.’ Food had always been fuel to her. A means to an end and, quite frankly, the quicker to prepare the better.

‘What’s on the menu this evening?’

‘A good old-fashioned Irish stew.’