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wondered fleetingly if it was Nina who didn’t like drop fences rather than the horse, then pushed the thought away and concentrated on the challenges ahead.
    The course was biggish but fair. Cross-country and horse trials fences are nowhere near as high as those facing a showjumping rider of a similar standard; the difference being that cross-country obstacles are not built to be knocked down by careless hooves. Stone walls, tree trunks and wired-on rails of easily twelve inches in diameter have to be jumped uphill, downhill and into water. Hedges, banks, chicken coops and picnic tables, singly or in combination, have to be negotiated in the open or amongst trees. The variation is immense, limited only by the imagination of each course designer. The only constant is the inescapable fact that mistakes are potentially dangerous. It is not a sport for the faint-hearted.
    Linc had a super round. Hobo lacked experience but made up for it with a willingness to be guided, and although he took a strong hold, Linc was able to steady him at the appropriate moments and they crossed the finishing line with a clear round insidethe time. At the end of the day it was good enough for second place. Nina was euphoric.
    â€˜Second? You’re kidding!’
    Ruth turned from making coffee in the Vicarage kitchen. Linc had called in on his way home for news and to see if he could help with the horses.
    He shook his head.
    â€˜No one was more surprised than me, I can tell you!’ he said. ‘And Nina was so excited I thought she’d never stop hugging me.’
    â€˜It’s brilliant! What was your dressage score?’
    â€˜Forty-two,’ he announced with a certain amount of pride.
    â€˜Well, good old Hobo!’ she exclaimed.
    â€˜Thanks!’ he said dryly, and they both laughed.
    The door swung open and a young woman stepped inside.
    Tall and slender with long dark brown hair and an unseasonable golden tan, Linc recognised Ruth’s older sister Josie from family photographs and a couple of professional portfolio shots her mother had proudly showed him. He’d privately thought then, as he did now, that Ruth, with her sunny smile, was the prettier sister.
    â€˜Well, I’m glad someone’s had an enjoyable day,’ Josie remarked, her displeasure aimed squarely at Linc. ‘If that’s your Land-Rover outside, you’re going to have to move it. You’re blocking me in.’
    â€˜Sure. Sorry.’ He stood up and made for the door straight away. He had noticed the sleek, white E-type on his way in and Ruth had told him it belonged to her sister. She had apparently driven back from London that afternoon to see Abby, inwhom there had been no change. Both their parents were still at the hospital, and although Ruth would never have admitted it, Linc could see that she was immensely relieved to have some of the responsibility for home and siblings lifted off her shoulders. He guessed that just the presence of someone older was a comfort to her.
    â€˜I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, Roo,’ Josie said as Linc passed. ‘I’ll see how Mum’s holding up, but I don’t suppose I’ll be long. Okay?’
    Outside, Linc gave the car a second appreciative glance as he strolled towards the Farthingscourt vehicle. Josie was evidently doing well for herself in the modelling world. He slid behind the wheel of the Land-Rover, started it and backed out of the yard into the drive.
    As he walked back, Josie emerged from the house and got into her car without a word to him. Wearing very little make-up and a long leather coat over jeans and a jumper, she didn’t look much like a model. He shrugged off her rudeness and headed for the back door.
    The Jaguar wouldn’t start.
    Linc paused in the doorway listening to Josie’s efforts for a moment or two, then retraced his steps.
    â€˜You’ll flood it,’ he warned her, putting a hand on the hardtop and