‘Gyps,’ she called softly, and heard the familiar whine of her horse through the thickening flakes. Falling onto him, she clung onto his neck. She felt the warmth of his animal-blood pumping through the veins in his neck on her cold cheek. ‘It’s all right, it’s only me. What is it, boy? Just the ghosts out at night. It’s all right. Let’s go home now.’

Something moved.

‘Who’s there?’ Verity said, trying to sound brave.

A figure stepped towards her and, although she couldn’t be certain who it was, the shock made her gasp and grip tighter to Gyps. The figure came closer and she cried out. It was Arthur. The particular line of his hair and jaw was clear to her dark-adjusted eyes. Despite everything, she wanted to cry. He was so familiar and this was so unfamiliar, so plainly ridiculous: the two of them out there by a decrepit shack in the middle of the marsh, with her horse stamping his hooves and the snow softly falling on everything. It was like a Second World War spy film. She half expected someone to shout, ‘Cut!’ A noise came out of her mouth, halfway between a cry and a laugh.

‘What’s funny?’ he said, and something in his voice, the urgency of it, made her relief wither and fear take its place.

‘Nothing. Just you and me, here. It made me think of a nativity scene, like you’d see in a church. Gyps is like the donkey. We just – we just – need a star…’ She was babbling nervously and he wasn’t responding. She scrabbled in her pockets, grabbed the torch, shone it at him and he put his hand up to shield his eyes.

‘I… I heard you talking to Peter,’ she said, desperate now to get away. ‘Did you get your deliveries done then?’

But he didn’t answer her. ‘Is that it?’ he said, looking down at the briefcase.

‘What do you mean?’ she said. It was far too late to keep up this charade but she didn’t know what else to do. She shrunk back and drew the briefcase closer to her body.

‘We can still work this out, Ver. It’s not too late for me. For us. If you let me have the briefcase, I’ll show you the truth. I’ve got the key. Why don’t you let me open it and we can see what’s inside.’

She almost laughed. There was no need for a bloody key, but in the dark, with the torn leather crushed against her body, he couldn’t have seen that.

‘I don’t want to,’ she said. It sounded pathetic.

‘Come on, Verity. He’s gone. It’s all over.’

‘No,’ she said. It came out like a sob.