‘Don’t worry. The visitors are only a small part of the operation. It’s a proper working ranch – two hundred horses and five hundred head of cattle. Luis says you’ll have the complete run of the place. I’m jealous – I haven’t been home for two years.’ She’d chuckled. ‘Just don’t mention the Falklands.’

Finch had assured her he wouldn’t dream of it and thanked her profusely. He was excited. Luis, when he talked to him, had sounded charming and extremely welcoming. He told Finch he could stay as long as he liked. The estancia was two hours’ drive north-west of Buenos Aires, and his host insisted he would be met at the airport.

It had all happened so quickly – almost too quickly – leaving Finch no time to think about whether this plan was a good one. He just went straight into logistics mode: booking flights, ordering online two pairs of khaki bombachos, the baggy, padded trousers the gauchos wore ‒ Cami having told him the nearest town was not close ‒ digging out the hiking boots she said were fine for riding, and getting his shirts washed, his jackets cleaned. It was the beginning of the season, still winter in Argentina, but the outdoor temperature would be in the late teens during the day and much colder at night.

Now, Finch was taken aback, completely thrown by the sound of Romy’s voice. He found himself holding his breath. He so badly wanted her to tell him something new, to move the narrative on with an account of Michael’s confession, or news that she had finally left the flat and stopped caring for her husband. But she was drunk, almost incoherent, although Finch thought he could sense the unhappiness behind her every word. And then she’d said she missed him and he couldn’t bear it any more. He’d clicked off involuntarily, without saying goodbye, his stomach churning with the knowledge that he was going away, putting thousands of miles between himself and the woman he knew he loved, but with whom he could have no future.

40

Leo pulled Romy into the dining room and closed the door very quietly, putting his finger to his lips, as soon as she’d arrived back on Sunday night.

‘Dad’s in the bedroom,’ he said, ‘but he’s coming through for supper in a minute and I wanted to have a word first.’

Her son stood leaning against the door, his arms crossed. Romy thought he looked exhausted, his dark curls unbrushed, his hazel eyes disturbed.

‘Dad asked me to help you find a new Daniel … He says he doesn’t want you looking after him any more because he thinks it’s making you unhappy.’ Another silence. Leo shifted uncomfortably. ‘He still loves you, Mum.’