‘If you feel like sorting the rest of the house then you can stay as long as you like.’

I finished chopping and put the knife down. Daniel was leaning against one of the newly cleaned and tidied worktops. He wore a white shirt with the top button undone, and suit trousers. They both needed a good iron. I again took in the tired creases around his eyes and mouth, the hair long overdue a decent cut, and the weary sag to his shoulders. It was abundantly clear that Daniel didn’t have any kind of help around the house. He was a single dad with some sort of job that required smart shirts, and in between nappy-changing and bath-time and meetings, he had the burden of preventing his family’s 250-year-old farm from falling apart.

This house had centuries of peace and goodwill soaked into the rafters and oozing from every crack and crevice, but its owner was clearly struggling to find any peace of his own.

And I knew that I could help. That I could really do something positive and worthwhile, for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit. And not only could I prove useful here, not only did Daniel and Damson Farm need me, but I understood, in a moment of clarity that I really could have done with about ten years ago, that I needed this just as much. Skulking back to hide at the Tufted Duck was not the answer. I couldn’t bear having to explain to my family why I’d chucked in my glittering career in the big city. And what if whoever was out to ruin my life, and had done a fairly good job of it so far, was able to trace me back to the B & B? Looking over my own shoulder twenty-four hours a day was bad enough. Putting my parents and grandma in danger wasn’t even an option.

I felt a bittersweet stab between my ribs as I thought about what Charlie would say at the prospect of me staying at the farmhouse, helping out her brother and spending more time snuggling with her daughter. And that was all the answer I needed.

‘Okay. I think I can adjust my schedule to include returning this house to its former glory.’

‘Oh, you have a spare year or two?’ Daniel raised his eyebrows at me. I attempted a wry, nonchalant smile that broke into a full-on laugh.

‘Yes. As it happens. I do.’

At least I would have, once I’d sorted out a few things…

Riding on the momentum of a stunningly successful morning, I called Lucy. She’d called me twice, and sent numerous increasingly anxious texts asking what was going on. I left another message apologising for the lack of contact, explaining that I’d been dealing with a personal situation, and asking her to call me back as soon as possible. I then called my editor.