She couldn’t have addressed the word more curtly to a dog. I tried to let resentment overcome my nervousness, but her direction sounded threatening as well. The car rounded a sharp bend, and I saw where she meant us to go. To the left an unsignposted lane led downwards between walls composed of jagged stones heaped higher than a man. Beyond the junction the road I was following widened towards a vista of slopes piebald with gorse and heather, and I had to resist an impulse to speed past the side road. “This is it, then,” I said.

“As it must be.”

Did Bella want to stifle conversation to some purpose? When she used one upturned hand to indicate the route I could have thought she wasn’t anxious to be heard. “Let’s get it done with,” I said.

Hearing no reply, I turned the car down the lane, where the walls closed in at once. Stone fragments splintered beneath the wheels, and I hoped the walls weren’t in danger of collapse. Some of the heaped stone looked top-heavy, far too close to overbalancing. The slope grew steeper, and even once I engaged a lower gear I felt compelled to keep tramping on the brake. I’d descended several hundred yards when the lane – little more than a dirt track – began to grow narrower still. “It might be best to walk,” I said.

“Driving is swifter. Would you really choose to climb so far?”

I didn’t know how far this might be, but I wondered if exertion was really the issue – if Bella simply wanted to be finished and on her way as soon as possible. Even the highest stretch of the lane had been too narrow to turn the car, and I could only hope there would be space further down. The prospect of reversing all the way back to the main road was too daunting to consider, and I eased my foot off the brake.