Belle felt relieved at his words. Truthfully, she was scared right now of the outside world. She’d been battered and bruised and abused by it. Here at least, with this unsmiling stranger, she did feel safe.

He was bringing the tea and toast over to the table, setting it all out with butter and jam and milk.

‘Help yourself,’ he said, pushing a plate toward her.

Belle buttered the toast, spread on jam. Then slowly, gingerly, she started to eat her first solid meal.

He was watching her face. Again, instinctively, she turned her damaged cheek away from him.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Don’t turn your face away. I’ve seen it all before, anyway.’

Belle nodded, embarrassed. He was right. What was the point of hiding her ugliness from him? He’d stitched her up. He’d seen it all, at its very worst.

‘I think I should see it too,’ said Belle.

‘You ready for that?’

‘I have to see it, don’t I. Sometime.’

‘Maybe after we take out the stitches?’

‘Will it look better then?’

‘Probably not.’

Belle threw down her toast.

Jack looked at her intently. ‘Look – you’re still alive. You want me to fetch a mirror now? Right now?’

Belle stared at him mulishly. She wanted to say yes, if only to spite him for being so fucking casual about this. But she was afraid.

‘No,’ she said.

‘OK. So eat your damned breakfast and stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

‘You’re a prickly bastard,’ Belle observed.

‘It’s been said.’

‘Your parents ran this farm?’

‘They did.’

‘You going to tell me about them?’ challenged Belle.

‘Nothing much to tell.’

‘I don’t hear any livestock about the place,’ said Belle, gingerly eating the toast again, realizing that she was actually hungry for the first time in too long. ‘No cows, no sheep.’

‘My dad’s prize dairy herd were sold off. The sheep too. All that’s left are a few chickens, my mum’s mare and a Shetland pony to keep her company.’

‘Ah! She rode then.’

‘She did. When she was a bit younger. More toast?’

‘Yeah. Please.’ She eyed him. ‘And you. What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Have you got a job? What do you do?’

But his eyes were hard again, unreadable. ‘Nothing to tell,’ he said.

Then there was a knock on the door.

119

‘Who the hell’s that?’ shot out of Belle’s mouth. Her heart literally leapt. It was too late for the postman, and hardly anybody else ever called here.

Jack was already on his feet. He nodded to the bedroom and Belle scrambled up and quickly went over to it, slipping inside but leaving the door ajar so she could hear what was going on.