‘Very kind of you, Stuart, but I should get my own,’ Romy said. She barely knew the retired mountaineer.

‘Don’t be daft. Least I can do. You rescued the indomitable Terence. Silly old sod would probably have run on regardless, if you and Finch hadn’t been on hand to stop him.’

Cradling the glass of red wine Stuart insisted on buying her, Romy hovered by the bar. There was no sign of Finch – as everyone seemed to call him. She decided he must have already left and felt a small, ridiculous stab of disappointment.

But she found she was enjoying being out. The runners were a friendly bunch and seemed to welcome her into their group as they stood dissecting the race. She knew none of them and they wouldn’t be aware of her recent circumstances, for which she was grateful. Being part of a couple for decades and then not being was an ongoing adjustment for Romy.

It wasn’t till a while later, when the pub had thinned out somewhat, that Romy caught sight of Robert Fincham, sitting in a corner with a much younger man she didn’t recognize. As she watched, he glanced up and caught her eye. She gave a brief smile and looked away quickly. But a moment later he was by her side. ‘Come and join us?’

Romy peered over at his companion. ‘I don’t want to interrupt.’

Dropping his voice, Finch said, ‘Oh, please … Jason’s been bending my ear about his exploits in Nepal last summer and there’s only so much I can hear about the queue of blonde Australians he lured to his tent at Base Camp.’

Romy couldn’t help laughing as she accompanied him to the corner table.

‘I’ve just filled Romy in about your adventures,’ Finch said, straight-faced.

She saw Jason’s eyes widen in alarm. Barely out of his teens, he flushed, looking as if he wished the earth would swallow him. Shifting uncomfortably on his stool, he picked up his phone and studied it intently. ‘Think I’ll be heading home,’ he said, nodding to Romy and giving Finch’s shoulder a reproving cuff in parting.

When he was safely out of earshot, Romy and Finch laughed. Then a silence fell. Romy searched around for something to say, unused to her sudden awkwardness. She, who had entertained the great and the good – from judges to politicians and media notables – during the thirty years of her marriage and never been short of conversation. And this was despite not really feeling part of the inner circle, as Michael – star that he was – had become.

‘I’ve seen you around,’ Romy said, bold now. ‘You have a bit of a reputation in the village.’

Finch raised his eyebrows. ‘A “ reputation ”? Sounds sinister.’

‘Depends … My neighbour calls you saintly.’

‘Oh.’ His smile fell away.

Romy cringed, wishing she could take back her glib remark. ‘I’m sorry, that was so crass …’