‘Oh. No. It’s not that bad.’ She looked away in embarrassment but her eyes were drawn back to him. It should have been unsightly, repellent even, but, perversely, it had the opposite effect. The scarred and torn skin was bizarrely mesmerising. It seemed to highlight the strange ugly-beauty of his face. And he wasn’t ashamed either. He was like a tomcat, a pale ginger tom, rakish and battle-scarred, almost proud of his scrapes.

Confused, she said, ‘What are you doing here?’ She had meant to sound discouraging but she could feel the telltale heat on her cheeks.

‘I have half a day’s release from the base and was just taking her out for a spin.’ He remained in an unconcerned pose, leaning against the motorcycle.

‘I see,’ she said. Now was the moment to leave, but she didn’t move. She felt dizzy.

‘Do you want a smoke?’

She took one without thinking and then had to stand and allow him to light it for her and then smoke it. All the time, she was acutely aware of his presence near to her, breathing in the distinct musky smell of his cologne and the petrol from the engine.

In the end, she gave in, as if it was inevitable. She slung her leg over the leather seat in an attempt at nonchalance. But as they sped along the Holkham Road, she clung on in terror. The wind rushed past her face and as long as he kept straight she could almost enjoy the sensation of movement. There was nothing but the sound of the engine in her ears. But then he swung the bike and she felt she was about to be flung off into the marsh.

‘Stop!’ she shouted into his back, the smell of the leather in her nostrils, but he didn’t seem to hear.

Finally he did stop. He swerved to the side of a field and cut the engine. She wobbled and fell off the bike, landing with a thump on the verge.

‘You nearly killed me!’ she shouted, trying to stand up with shaking legs. It came back to her what Arthur had said at the Midsummer party about Jack trying to kill him.

But he was smiling down at her. He held a hand out and she took it automatically. They stood at the edge of the road facing each other. Behind them, the marsh was a haze of violet from sea aster and sea lavender. She glared at him. ‘Sorry,’ he said, but his eyes were bright and glittering. She couldn’t stop looking at the scarred face.

‘I wanted to show you something,’ he said. He hadn’t even asked if she was all right.