Arthur’s smile lingered. “You don’t do a bad job,” he said, and she felt as though he’d given her a present.

Arthur broke the moment. “I think I must have been unbearable,” he said. “Jenna and I were so full of ourselves.” He pulled a face. “But underneath it... Jenna was totally messed up. I tried to help but it wasn’t enough.”

“I’m very sorry,” Lizzie said. She remembered Kat saying that Jenna had died of anorexia. She wondered whether that was where Arthur’s tendency to try to save people stemmed from. It must have been appalling to lose his fiancée like that and to feel so helpless.

“Was that why you turned your back on it all?” she asked. “A change of direction?”

“It wasn’t really that different,” Arthur said. “I’ve always loved the countryside and I was making shows that focussed on animals and nature—you know the sort of thing. Farming is just a different emphasis, really. I went to the US to study agriculture. My mother lives in the States these days and it’s a kind of second home to me. I studied at Cornell and then went to Uppsala in Sweden for my postgraduate degree.” He didn’t make any reference to how Jenna’s death had made him feel and Lizzie didn’t push. The fact he’d told her it was a very personal question showed how significant it still must be to him.

“I’m thinking of doing something different,” Lizzie said. “Well, not different exactly, but more writing and composing. I was the songwriter for my band back in the day and I really enjoyed it.” She caught herself up in time before she told him more. It was easy to talk to Arthur because she felt close to him and difficult to remember that there was more that divided them than brought them together.

“Anyway, come back through,” she said awkwardly.

She was very aware of Arthur following her through to the living room. He went over to the seat by the window, sparing one long, appreciative glance for her bookshelves and a second one for the view before turning his attention back to her.

“I’d forgotten that you lost your mother when you were even younger than Johnny,” he said unexpectedly. “That must have been very painful. No wonder you have such an affinity with him.”

He caught Lizzie off guard. Grief ambushed her, visceral and raw. She swallowed hard. “I don’t remember my mother very well,” she said, trying to sound as though it didn’t matter. “I was too young.”

“Earlier on I brushed you off when you asked something that was still very personal to me,” Arthur said wryly. “Now you’ve done the same.” There was tension in the line of his shoulders. “I guess that until this issue with Johnny is resolved we’d better just stick to the straightforward stuff.”

“There’s not much of that around,” Lizzie said, with feeling.

“No,” Arthur said. “I suppose not. OK, let’s just go for it. Last night when we spoke you said that you’d got something you wanted to tell me in person, something to do with Johnny’s visit.”