‘I didn’t realise it was that late,’ Jack says easily, loading his fork. ‘I must have lost track of time.’ He looks directly at Gwen, standing rigid by the range. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you when I came in, pet.’

She shakes her head, forcing a smile, her heart beating a little faster as she waits to see whether Nora has swallowed the bluff.

‘What on earth were you doing out there?’ Nora persists.

‘I’m working on something. A surprise, like. I’d rather not say.’ He holds her inquisitive gaze, then takes his last forkful of breakfast.

‘I’m intrigued now. Aren’t you going to give me a clue?’

‘Afraid not.’

‘What a spoilsport.’

‘What will we be doing today?’ he asks Gwen, keen to change the subject.

‘Potato picking.’

‘You’ll need Bobby hitched up to the spinner?’

Gwen suppresses a smile. ‘Not Bobby, Jack … the Fordson.’

He chuckles at his foolish mistake. ‘Aye, the tractor, I meant. I’m still getting used to the changes around here.’ He gets up. ‘I can go and get the spinner ready.’

‘I’ll come and show you how to link it to the tractor,’ Nora offers, springing to her feet.

She detects his reticence and grins, clearly relishing the fact her presence unsettles him. He stands to the side allowing her through the door first. She angles her body towards him as she slips past. The subtle flirtation is not missed by Muriel, who shakes her head when they have gone, scowling.

‘I’ll be glad to see the back of that girl.’

‘She’s harmless enough,’ Gwen says, though she is beginning to wonder.

‘I’m going to do the washing today. It’s dry and there’s a good wind, it should do well on the line. Oh,’ Muriel slaps her hand against the edge of the sink, ‘I should have asked Jack if he has any dirty clothes he’d like me to do.’

‘His uniform needs doing – if you can manage it.’

‘Well, of course I can.’

‘I’ll go and get him to bring it in.’

Gwen expects Jack and Nora to be at the implement shed but when she fails to find them there she deduces they must be in the barn, where the tractor is stored. As she approaches, she hears Nora’s throaty laugh and wonders what Jack has done to evoke it. She comes to a standstill just beyond the door. She tells herself she is being foolish but, as Nora begins to speak, she finds herself listening in.

‘Ughh, I hate potato picking. It always means sore shoulders and an aching back.’

‘It has to be done.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t mind so much if there was someone on hand to give me a back rub at the end of the day …’