Soon, Marie was heading out of town and across the sunlit Fens. She arrived at a straggling collection of dwellings and slowed down. She was looking for a house or cottage called Moorcroft, but after almost half a mile she still hadn’t spotted it. By now she was almost out of Hobhole.

Ahead of her were only two more houses, and then nothing but fields.

She passed the first, which bore the name Pemberley, a rather rambling house with several buildings attached to it.

So, Moorcroft had to be the last house on Hobs Drain.

Cold Blow. Damn it. Marie turned around. She must have missed it, though she could have sworn she’d noted every plate and plaque she passed.

‘Who you lookin’ for, mate?’

An old man in shabby clothes, carrying a green plastic trug full of hedge clippings, appeared from around a hedge.

‘I think I’m lost,’ she said.

‘Sorry, lass, thought you were a bloke on that big machine.’ He looked at it admiringly. ‘Used to have a smasher when I was younger, a Matchless. You probably won’t even have ’eard of one of them.’

Marie pulled off her helmet and grinned at him. ‘What model?’

‘A Silver Hawk,’ he said proudly.

‘Really! Wow! That was a 1930s luxury model, four-cylinder machine. It was a Bert Collier design, wasn’t it?’ Marie gazed at the little old man in awe.

‘Well, I’ll be jiggered. You know your bikes, lass. My pride and joy it was.’ He beamed at her, his eyes almost brimming with nostalgia.

‘How come you had a bike like that, if you don’t mind me asking? They were like, well, really expensive back then, and rare too.’ Marie had only ever seen one in the National Motorcycle Museum in Solihull.

‘I had an uncle, rich as Croesus, the old bugger was. Well, he had to have every newfangled machine he could get his hands on. So, he buys this beautiful motorbike, hasn’t got a clue how to ride it and crashes it. So what does he do? He throws it in the dyke! Luckily my dad saw him do it and went and got a tractor and towed it out. He brought it home and we rebuilt it. Best thing that ever happened to me, lass, and that’s no lie. Time with my dad, and the best bike in the world at the end of it.’ He cackled. ‘I felt as rich as that old sod, my uncle.’ He stood running his eyes over her Triumph Tiger. ‘That one’s beautiful too, in its way.’

‘But not a Matchless. Don’t worry, I understand.’ She smiled at him. ‘Nice to meet you, sir, but I’d better get a move on.’