Her darling boy, her baby Jock, sedated with a tube in his throat to keep his airway open, carried in like the dead. Like her dad had been that horrific day ten years ago. Stella’s lip quivered and she brushed away the trickle of tears on her cheeks. She glanced at Mim, who looked just as shocked. She’d thought nothing could have been worse than her dad being carried in. Now it was her son. And her dear daughter-in-law and her grandchild.

Ava and Zac, both professional to the core though their faces had been blanched ashen, confirmed that Jock’s vital signs were stable, but Hana’s uterus had been contracting, they hoped only from the stress. Though they didn’t say it, everyone was thinking, Please, God, not from the fall. She had no blood loss or other pain, so Ava said that was a good sign.

Usually the calm one in emergency situations, Stella had felt small and frightened, and finally asked Mim to phone Lorenzo again to come and just be there in case they needed help, but really, she just needed his presence. His housekeeper had said she would make sure he drove over as soon as he returned. He should arrive by the time she got back to the house with the doctor and the flight nurse.

Come on, people. Get out of the aircraft.

Finally, the propellers stopped turning and the door swung down to form the steps. The flight nurse and the doctor seemed unhurried, but they appeared beside her very quickly.

‘Thank goodness,’ Stella said, and her hands seemed to shake more visibly the longer it took for them to put their equipment into the car.

The flight nurse nodded in greeting. ‘We get that a lot.’ Then, when she looked at Stella, she said, ‘Would you like me to drive, Mrs May?’

Stella touched her cheeks and realised she was crying. ‘Yes, please.’

When they arrived back at the house, Stella’s heart squeezed at the sight of Hana’s face, pale and wooden, with two tear trails from lid to chin as she held Jock’s hand in hers. Her beautiful dark eyes were huge and hauntingly tragic as she stared down at Jock.

Mim sat with Ava, squeezing her granddaughter’s fingers as the medical team concentrated on Jock. Stella could see how the fragile, veined hand shook, and she crossed to them both to rest her hands on their shoulders.

Ava turned her way. ‘Mum. He’ll be all right. He’s tough.’ Then her voice cracked. ‘We’ll never let him do that again … Poor Hana.’

Stella’s heart was breaking. ‘I know, sweetheart. I know.’