‘Exactly,’ Lucas agreed glumly, ‘but she seemed fine that afternoon.’

‘I thought you said she was upset.’

‘Well, she got upset…’ He faltered, remembering Moira’s striking, and uncharacteristic, choice of clothes that day, but quickly judging it to be too much of a potentially explosive observation to share. This was a minefield, and he was going to need all his wits to navigate it. ‘That was why I agreed to look at her writing.’

‘Shall we continue hearing her statement?’ said the Master smoothly.

Lucas hunkered down deeper into his chair, wanting only to plug his ears as the words continued to fall from the reverend’s mouth, each sentence more dreadful than the last. How he had told Moira he was her man. How he had called her his sweetheart. How when he sat on the sofa arm, he had brushed against her chest. ‘I did none of these things,’ he blurted, unable to bear the litany a moment longer. ‘I did not say one inappropriate word or lay so much as a finger on her.’ Lucas delivered the sentence as a solemn declaration, while inwardly suppressing a new panic that maybe – maybe – Moira had dressed to be taken notice of by him that day. Maybe he had been a lamb intended for this slaughter. The Chaplain, with a nod from the master, resumed her reading.

‘“He swore me to secrecy, about the visit, about his help…”’

‘Well, yes, I did,’ Lucas interjected helplessly. ‘Purely because I didn’t want all my students thinking I was open to giving a literary leg-up. Is that so unreasonable?’ Neither woman spoke. And after a moment or two, Claire continued reading.

‘Lucas!’ Heidi stood up to wave from the back corner of the tea room. ‘I wanted outside, but there were no free tables,’ she explained, pulling a mock sad face as he arrived at her side. ‘I have an apple juice, but you would like tea?’

‘I love you,’ he murmured, kissing her cheek before sitting down, having to squeeze into the chair because of a buggy parked by the neighbouring table. The occupant of the buggy, ruddy-cheeked, hair in ringlets, was using both hands to press a chocolate muffin against her mouth, sucking rather than eating it.

‘Isn’t she cute?’ Heidi fluttered her fingers at the baby. ‘But how has your day been, Liebchen? Your home-schooling A level student, is he – how did you say it? – buckling down?’ Her beautiful eyes danced. She was a lighthouse of happiness, on full beam. Only a fool would want to interrupt it.