Gwen decides she will make her own way home. She knows the paths between the Hall and the farm like the back of her hand. Jack does not ask her how – he does not want to think why. She asks him to reassure her father with tales of a headache and the intolerable heat, but Jack will not let her go alone, not when her tears are only temporarily dammed and her suffering is still so raw. He begs her to wait for him, and though he can see she yearns to be gone, in the end, she relents.

He hurries to the place he last saw Jim, his harried breaths drowned out by hearty applause, but the farmer has gone. He spots Ted, though, clapping mechanically, clearly bored of the prize-giving, and decides to entrust him with Gwen’s message. Ted listens to Jack’s stumbling explanation with increasing concern.

‘Well, I’ll take her home if you can’t find Jim. I’ve got my car. I’ll drive her now …’

‘No, no need.’ Jack holds up his hands to stop him. ‘I’ll see her back safe.’

‘She shouldn’t be walking in this heat if she’s unwell. I’ll take her.’

‘No.’

And before Ted can protest further, he turns away. ‘Tell Jim,’ he calls over his shoulder, grateful for the dispersing crowd that traps the farmer behind him.

They walk back in silence down an old drovers’ path overhung with bushy elder and banked with blackthorn. The verges are thick with nettles and wild garlic and clumps of honesty, its green coins yet to silver into mock riches. The air is thick with heat and cloying scent and swarming midges, but Jack is too preoccupied with Gwen to notice.

They soon reach the stile leading onto the lane. She grabs the post, but she does not plant her foot on the raised plank before her, instead she remains frozen in place, lost in thought.

‘There will be a reasonable explanation,’ she says at last, ‘and I’m sure it will all be sorted out. I just need to speak to Gordon … but you’re right, Jack, I shouldn’t have tried to speak to him at the fete. There were too many people … it needs to be just us …’

‘Gwen—’

‘I’ll go back later …’

‘Gwen, lass—’

‘No, no – I’ll go to the kiosk in the village and telephone him from there first.’ She breaks into a smile and the optimism behind it steals Jack’s breath. ‘You see, Jack … there are things you don’t know,’ she says quietly. ‘And I know those things will change everything.’

True to her word, Gwen dashes down to the village on their return, though she is back by the time Jack brings in the herd. The milking is long completed by the time Jim finally appears, the thread veins in his cheeks rosy from a bevvy or two.