‘Please, Tom. Sit down.’

For a moment he looked at her, and then he sat down facing her, his arms folded in front of him.

Bridget swallowed hard. ‘When I’ve told you what’s on my mind, you might want to throw me out on the streets. I pray you won’t do that. Instead, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. And, though I don’t deserve it, maybe I can hold on to the love and trust you have always given me.’

Tom sat forward in his seat, a look of confusion on his face. She went on, ‘I know the biggest disappointment in your life has been that we never made a child together, and that’s why it’s especially difficult for me to say what’s on my mind.’ She wondered how she could go on with Tom’s puzzled blue eyes staring at her, his fists clenched on the table in front of him as though ready to fight off some awful thing that was about to attack.

‘Go on.’ His face was set like stone. ‘Let’s hear the rest of it.’ Afraid but determined, she said, ‘You remember the night of the storm, when you were snowed in at work and didn’t get home until the next morning?’ He nodded slowly. ‘You never knew, but I got home only minutes before you. It was snowing when I set off for home but I didn’t think it would be much, and anyway I was anxious to be home in case you worried about me.’ As he always did, she thought regretfully. ‘Before I knew it, the snow was falling from the skies like it was the end of the world. The wind was fierce, blowing the snow every which way, half blinding me, until I could hardly see where I was going.’

As Bridget conveyed the mood of the night, it all came alive in her mind, and she was carried back there, to Harry’s arms. She felt her face grow hot and pink, and bent her head so Tom would not see. Dear God, forgive me, she prayed silently. Her tongue was so dry with fear it stuck to the roof of her mouth, but she must not stop.

‘I was found in great difficulties,’ she said. ‘I had lost all track of which way I was heading, and by this time I couldn’t even find my way back.’ How could she tell him that the master of the house had made advances to her and that was why she couldn’t go back? Tom might think she had encouraged him, especially when he knew what she and Harry had done.

‘Who was it found you?’ Tom’s voice was harsh.

Reluctant to betray Harry, Bridget didn’t answer.

‘Dammit, woman! I asked who was it found you?’ The question was put so loudly and with such force, it struck the fear of God into her.

‘It was Harry. If he hadn’t found me, I might have frozen to death.’ She was visibly trembling, her guilt alive in her eyes. She had not wanted to reveal Harry’s name, but what choice had she? Tom would discover his name one way or the other whether she told him willingly or not.