'This wasn't what I had in mind for today. I'm sorry.'
I touch him on the cheek.
'It can't be helped.'
With a smile, he unfastens his seatbelt and gets out. Quickly circling the car, he opens the passenger door and offers me a hand. I lap up the gentlemanly gesture, allowing him to help me to my feet before I take a moment to straighten out the dress, only too conscious that where underwear's concerned, I've decided to ignore Dan's advice and go commando.
'Right,' he sighs. 'Let's get this sorted.'
Taking my hand in his, he leads me round to the back of the house. We've almost made it to the door when he pauses, suddenly distracted by something. I follow his line of vision and spot a small mound in the distance, shrouded with a sheet. He hesitates for a few seconds.
'I let her out first thing this morning.' Norman's voice jolts him back to life. Standing at the door with his hands in his pockets, the big teddy bear takes a step forwards. 'She was totally fine. I went to get ready for work, and then ...'
Dan places a hand on Norman's back. 'Are you okay?'
'It's just a dog.' The old man forces an embarrassed laugh. 'But you know how it is.' He waves a big hand through the air. 'I'm fine.'
But I can tell he isn't. His eyes are red.
'Betty's in the kitchen. I'd better ....'
While Norman disappears back inside the house, Dan surveys the orchard, the fields, the woodland beyond.
'She was only six,' he says, his voice barely a whisper. 'No age at all. Always healthy.' He shakes his head, and suddenly I realise that he's just as upset as Norman. 'We always had a dog. Family tradition. We used to go for walks in those woods over there.' He nods towards a copse, his eyes glimmering in a shaft of sunlight. 'I'd never done anything like that before ...'
Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the need to comfort him, but no words come to mind. All I can do is touch his arm and give him a smile.
'Go on in,' he says at last. 'I'll go and see to her.'
I watch as he walks away, towards the kitchen garden, deciding that he wants a few minutes on his own to say goodbye, and there's no way I'm about to intrude. Instead, I take myself into the kitchen where I find Norman fiddling around with tea cups and Betty slumped at the table.
'Oh, Maya,' she groans. 'Isn't it awful? Who am I going to talk to now?'
I'd like to offer up Norman's name, but I have the distinct feeling it might be a ridiculous suggestion. Instead, I give her my condolences and take a seat at the table. Before long, we're joined by Norman and a pot of tea. As the silence lengthens, I'm not entirely sure what else to say. Occasionally shaking his head, Norman sips at his tea while Betty pulls a handkerchief out of her apron pocket, wipes her eyes, blows her nose, and then tucks it away again. The process has been repeated at least five times when Norman eventually leaves us and joins Dan outside.
'Will you be having dinner here?' Betty asks.
'I'm not sure.'
'I expect you will.' Shoving the tissue into her pocket, she rises from her chair and busies herself with moving things about: saucepans, cups, a bag of potatoes. 'Cottage pie. Do you eat cottage pie?'
'I eat just about anything, Betty.' I get up. Making straight for the window, I spot the two men immediately. They're standing beneath an apple tree, deep in conversation.
'Oh, I'm glad to hear it,' Betty says. 'I can't be doing with those fussy eaters.'
I turn from the window just in time to see her pick up an envelope. 'Don't let me forget to show this to Dan.'
'What is it?'
'A quote for the decorating.' She slaps the envelope back down. 'Has he told you about it?'
I shake my head. Grabbing a tea towel, she flaps it in the general direction of the door. 'It's since he's met you. He's been on about redecorating the bedrooms. He wants you to choose the colours.'
'Me? Why me?'
'It's your house now.'
My house? Has Betty taken leave of her senses?
'Betty, I'm just moving into the flat in London, that's all. This isn't my house.'
'And it's not mine either.' She flaps the tea towel again. 'It's Dan's. And it's going to be yours too when you get married.'
I swallow hard and blink.
'Married?'
'Oh, it's going to happen.' She wafts the tea towel at my frown. 'I can feel it in my water. I expect he's thinking about the future. You know, the pitter-patter of tiny feet.'
Excuse me? What? With the full intention of hiding an incoming blush, I look out of the window again. Dan's talking on his mobile now while Norman listens intently, occasionally scowling at a hedgerow. Finally ending the call, Dan slides the phone back into his pocket and the two men talk some more. At last, when they seem to have finished, Dan leads the way back to the house. Dodging away from the window, I sit back at the table.
'Did you bury her?' Betty asks as soon as they enter the kitchen.
'No.' Dan makes for the sink, washes his hands and grabs a towel. 'I've put her in my car. I'm taking her to the vets later.'
'Why?'
'She must have eaten something. I want to know.' He flings the towel onto a worktop.
Suddenly bristling, Betty folds her arms. 'It can't be anything in the garden. Norman's never used anything that could harm her.'
'I know. That's not what I'm saying.'
'And she never wandered off. And there's nothing in the house.'
'I'm not trying to blame anyone. She might have picked up something while she was out on a walk, down in the woods. It could be anything. I just need to know.'
Placated by Dan's words, Betty finally seems to relax a little.
'What happened to her name tag?' he asks.
Norman's eyebrows lurch upwards. 'Nothing.'
'It's gone.'
'I don't know … ' Norman shrugs.
'Never mind. It probably came off a while ago.' Moving closer to the table, Dan holds out a hand to me. 'Let's go for a walk.'
'What?' I glance from Norman to Betty and back again. 'Now?'
'Yes, now.'
'But the vets?'
'Busy this morning. They can't deal with this until later.'
I stand up, anxiously smoothing down the dress before I slip my hand into his. I'm led through the flag-stoned hallway, out of the back door and across the lawn. In silence, we stroll past the orchard, this time skirting the wall of the kitchen garden and emerging into a section of the grounds that I've never seen before. I'm guided forwards until we're about twenty feet away from the wall. And then we stop. I'm left to take in the view, to wonder at the beauty of it all. We're at the top of an incline now. To the left, acres of woodland stretch out into the distance while to the right, I can see nothing but fields, divided by plush hedgerows that dip and rise as far as the eye can see. Ahead of us, there's a fence, and beyond that a meadow sweeps down towards a copse. Right on cue, the sun comes out. Shafts of light glint across the wet grass.
'What do you think?' he asks, watching my face.
A breeze sweeps up the hill, catching hold of my dress. I grab it quickly and push it down.
'It's beautiful.'
'And it's all ours, right down to the woods at the bottom.' He slips his arms around me, pulling me into his warmth. 'What do you think of the light here?'
'The light?'
'That stuff that comes from the sun.' He smiles indulgently.
Confused by the sudden change of topic, I look round. In the blink of an eye, he's gone from dealing with the dog to talking about light. I have no idea what's going on inside his head, but I'll hear him out.
'It's good.' Actually it's not just good. It's much better than that. We're totally clear of the trees and there's no shadow in sight. 'It's great.'
'Perfect. Do you like the view?'
I gaze out over the copse, puzzled by the train of questions.
'Yes, it's amazing. Why?'
A hand comes to the back of my head.
'I'm having some plans drawn up.'
He leans in for a kiss, his lips gentle against mine, sending a thrill right through me. I could lose myself in the sudden rush of sensations, but my brain is currently yelling out for an answer.
'For what? Plans for what?'
'A studio.'
Everything slams to a halt.
'Here?'
'You really can be a bit slow sometimes, Maya. Of course here. It's away from the house. The views are amazing and the light's perfect.' He lets go of me.
In a complete daze, I wander round, occasionally catching hold of the dress, mulling over his latest idea. Decorating six bedrooms is one thing, but sorting out a purpose-built studio is on an entirely different level. This is commitment on a grand scale, and I just can't let him do it.
'You … you can't,' I stammer. 'It's going to cost a bomb.'
'I can afford it.' Shrugging off my concerns, he becomes business-like. 'I'm thinking glass doors on this side.' Pacing out the shape of the building project, he swipes his hand through the air, as if he can already see it. 'You'll be able to open them out in the summer. But you'll want total climate control: under-floor heating, air conditioning. The temperature needs to be perfect. And you'll need a bathroom, of course.' And then he stops, glancing at me, maybe realising that he's going too far. 'I can get the architect to come and talk to you. You'll need to tell him what you need. I think we can get this up by Christmas.'