‘Verity!’ he shouted. ‘Stop!’ But she’d shaken off his grip and he was thrust backwards, panting, slipping on the ice-crusted ground. The photograph he’d seen was of a woman’s face in profile, dark-haired, her upper body in shadow but naked. It was dark: how could he be sure? In his bones, he felt the chill of her deceit. She had lied to him. He’d known it, in his heart. He’d known the truth. With a groan of rage and misery, he whipped round to look for the gun. Without her torch, the night was suddenly thick and smothering.

Crouching, his hands scrabbled on the ground and the ends of his fingers touched the wood of the butt. The gun was on the edge of the marsh, damp but not submerged. He grabbed it and ran down the path, chasing the sound of the horse’s hooves thudding on the ground. Blood thumped in his ears. He couldn’t see anything apart from wet, white flakes whirling in front of him. The path was narrow and overgrown with brambles and she couldn’t go very fast. He thought the shadow of the horse’s rear appeared, a grey mass, and he raised the gun.

He was a good shot. If he’d wanted to kill Jack back in the autumn he could have done. He pulled the barrel up, but wavered, his finger hovering on the trigger. If he fired, even if he fired in the air, Gyps would throw her. His hand shook and slackened. He couldn’t do it. He removed his finger from the trigger. Far away, coming from where the road must be, there were lights and the sound of car engines. Sirens. Peter must have called the police. Maybe it was the Air Force too. He felt the fact of it sink into his stomach. The horse neighed in the distance. Trembling, he flung the gun down.

‘I didn’t want this,’ he said hopelessly, but the wind and snow took the sound. He could sink now into the quaggy marsh. He could merge with the water and the mud and wait for what would come. At this moment, he could think of nothing else. But if they found him he would be humiliated. He would be hanged. Shouts rose from the distant road. She must have found them. He couldn’t be caught like a rat in a trap. He ran, away from his pursuers, further into the dense reeds behind the shack, towards the dunes and the sea.