‘You’re lying!’ His spittle lands on the soft skin beneath her eye. ‘That boy is mine – good God, he’s the spitting image of me at his age – you can’t tell me that’s a coincidence. I will have him. He is my son, my heir, and I won’t let you take him from me.’

‘He’s mine.’

‘He’s mine.’ He snaps her arm down. She clenches her teeth to staunch a cry of pain. ‘Now, we can sort this out between ourselves like two civilised people and do what’s best for Tom, or I warn you now, I will take legal action to secure his custody.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh yes, I can. And who do you think is going to win?’ He relinquishes his hold. ‘I’ve had an interesting little chat with your Land Girl. This husband of yours … it seems very strange that he never writes; that he shows no sign of coming home, and yet there’s no sign of him being dead either. An arrangement that seems to suit you very well. She told me in all the time she’s been here she’s only seen you write or receive a handful of letters from him. That all seems very peculiar to me. The letters from my wife were like a lifeline when I was serving and I know she lived to hear from me.’

‘Jack’s never been one for writing …’

‘No leave, no letters – one begins to wonder whether he was ever really a husband at all. He certainly wasn’t a father. It makes me think the whole marriage might be nothing more than a façade of respectability. Is that what it was, Gwen? It’s all very convenient, isn’t it? You get married, he disappears off to war and Tom is born not quite the right side of the blanket. How much did your father pay him?’

‘Nothing. He paid him nothing! How dare you stand there and speak to me like this? Jack cared for me … and he was decent enough to do the right thing, even though he knew I could never love him the way he loved me!’ As the words fall unconsciously from her lips, she realises their veracity. Their inherent truth renders her defiant. ‘Whether you like it or not, Tom is Jack’s son, not yours. You have no right to him, no right at all. Do you understand me? Now get off my farm and don’t you ever come anywhere near me or my child again, because if you do … I will not be held responsible for my actions.’

‘This isn’t over, Gwen. I warn you now, I know you’re lying. I know that boy is mine, and I will go to the highest court in the land if I need to.’

‘Just you try,’ she calls back over her shoulder. ‘Just you bloody try!’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jack

September 1939