‘It is a beauty,’ I admitted, ‘and you’re right. I don’t fancy subjecting it to any pot-holes, but I could pick you up where the farm drive meets the road.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ he said, reaching around me and rummaging between the Land Rover seats, looking for paper and a pen to scribble down the address.

‘It’s not too far for you to walk?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s no distance really.’

I pulled a notebook and pen from my bag and Joe rolled his eyes.

‘What?’ I pouted. ‘I like to be organized.’

‘See you tomorrow then,’ he grinned once he had finished writing. ‘I promise I won’t wear my muck-encrusted wellies.’

‘You’d better not!’ I shot back.

*

As arranged, Joe waited at the end of the track. Even from a distance, I could see he was smiling and gave him an indulgent flash of headlights. The sleek silver paintwork wasn’t quite as shiny as it had been, but considering the recent weather that was hardly a surprise. His rapt expression suggested he was impressed nonetheless.

When he reached me, I lowered the passenger window. His happy face bobbed down and I reminded myself that the purpose of the evening was for Joe to ‘kick up his heels’ for a few hours and that even though I had laid awake half the night thinking about the crash and the many questions I wanted to ask about it, this was not the time.

‘Show me your shoes before you get in,’ I jokingly commanded and he opened the door and lifted up one foot and then the other, presenting me with reasonably clean footwear.

‘They’ll do,’ I nodded, ‘get in.’

He slid gingerly into the seat and carefully closed the door.

‘I should have got you to drive us to tea yesterday afternoon,’ he said, taking in the plush interior.

‘It’s not that swish,’ I smiled.

‘Bloody is,’ he shot back. ‘Can you not smell the luxury?’

‘Stop it,’ I laughed.

‘Tell me again, Tess, what was it you said you did for a living?’

‘I didn’t,’ I grinned. ‘Now, put your seatbelt on and tell me where we’re going.’

I didn’t have to drive all that far and I soon realized that Joe’s idea of a wild night out (in Norfolk anyway), varied greatly to mine. I had thought there might be a cocktail bar or two, or a gin joint perhaps, followed by a five-course gourmet dinner and all topped off with a couple of hours dancing in an upmarket club, but I couldn’t have been more wrong and, as the evening progressed, I felt very happy about that.

‘What about “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”?’ Joe shouted above the raucous din. ‘That’s a duet!’