His hand came out to her and she took it. And as she looked once more into his eyes, now full of love for her, she knew that she loved him, too. Knew that he was the other half of her. It was complicated, and yes, even a little sullied – him being married to her husband’s mistress – but she couldn’t help any of that. She loved Montel and wanted to spend her life with him.

There was no stopping the happy smile that played around her lips.

‘Mags?’

‘I accept your love, Montel, and I give you mine. But your love has to be patient. I’m not ready to give myself to you. I have to feel right. I want to – more than anything in the world I want to – but I can’t, not yet.’

Montel’s eyes filled with tears. Stretching out his arms, he took her back into the circle of them and leaned his head on hers. ‘Ma précieuse fille. My precious one.’

For a moment Mags stayed still, cocooned in the love that enclosed her. A love she so wanted, but was afraid of, in case it broke once she let it fully possess her. She knew she had to heal first; and then, when she was ready, embrace it with all that she was.

Back with Betsy, and in the reality of the moment, Mags felt a shyness of Montel. She’d let him in too far, and yet she yearned to go further. It was a confusion that settled in her and she didn’t know how to deal with it. Betsy saved the day with her matter-of-fact way. ‘Eeh, come on, you two, we’re near on starving here.’

‘Let’s open the picnic basket then. I asked the hotel to put up some boiled-egg sandwiches for the children, and ham salads for us. There’s a cloth to spread out.’ Mags got on her knees as she said this and found that dealing with the picnic took away any awkwardness. Soon they were clearing away, after laughing their way through the lunch at the antics Montel played with the children.

With the children now lying on the grass and closing their eyes, Mags broached the subject of Scotland. ‘I haven’t spoken in much detail about it, but I have a four-bedroomed house in Scotland, with a view over the sea. Portpatrick is a lively port, taking in fishing boats and small craft from Ireland, and at night you can see Ireland lit up. Well, I only know this from my mother’s letters. I had thought to get a small cottage for you, Betsy, but now I might turn the top floor into living quarters for you. The problem is that I don’t know how big the house is, or what state it’s in. I did give instructions that it is to be maintained, but that could just mean that outside repairs have been undertaken. We may have a lot of work to do once we are there.’