‘Yeah, right.’ He unlocked the door with its aperture of stained glass and led the way, switching on the hall light en route to the kitchen.

‘Still got the bright red floor tiles,’ Pippa teased as she followed.

‘And I still like them,’ he replied evenly. The people who’d done up the cottage had chosen them and he liked their fire-engine redness, even if they probably hid original quarry tiles beneath.

Pippa unbuttoned her fir green coat and hung it on one of the hooks on the back of the door. He slung his own coat on a kitchen chair.

‘I won’t have coffee, thanks,’ she said, when he took down two mugs.

He checked out alternatives in his cupboard. ‘Tea? Hot chocolate?’

She accepted the hot chocolate and he made it then showed her through to the lounge.

Pippa took her old place in the corner of the big, L-shaped blue sofa. He took his favourite black leather chair with the scuffed footstool. ‘So, what’s up?’ he asked, pleasantly. Despite his hurt and disappointment at the way Pippa had reacted to his fertility issues, they lived in the same village and he preferred good terms to bad ones.

Pippa sipped her hot chocolate, her cheeks flushed. ‘Do you have to sit all the way over there? Something’s happened that I want to talk about. It would be nicer not to shout.’

Grady debated. It seemed petty to stick to where he was comfortable, but considering Pippa’s every wish when he’d loved her hadn’t earned her support when it mattered. Once, he’d thought he’d spend his life with her. They’d lived together for two years, planned a wedding, joked about their differences – her ‘princess tendencies’ and his ‘liking to get his hands dirty’. They’d spent time with each other’s families. But when they’d hit a bump in the road … she’d jumped off the relationship bus. Nevertheless, he smiled to remove any sting from his words. ‘I can hear you OK. No need to shout.’

She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her, then carefully placed her mug on a side table. ‘Well,’ she began, clasping her hands. ‘Something’s happened, as I said. And it could be a wonderful thing, if we let it.’ Her long blonde hair lay on the shoulders of her black jumper like gold on jeweller’s velvet.

He frowned. ‘Oh?’ She seemed on edge, which put him on edge, too; the kind of edge that felt as if it might hurt.

Pippa tilted her head and gave him a tender smile. ‘Well … I’m pregnant.’