So, feeling as anxious as she’d ever felt in her entire medical career, she moved to his shoulders and put her face down in the mud again, nose to nose.

‘I’m going to roll you over now,’ she told him. ‘Don’t try to help me.’

‘If I don’t try to help you then you’ll never do it,’ he muttered. ‘How tall are you?’

‘I’m tall.’

‘You don’t sound tall.’

‘I have a short voice.’

‘I can see you sideways. You look really short.’

‘From where you are I must look eight feet or so.’ She put her hands under his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry but your leg’s going to hurt when I do this. But I want to roll you keeping your back and neck as rigid as possible.’

He forgot about the short bit. She could see him brace.

‘OK. Let’s give it a shot.’

In the end he rolled with ease. There couldn’t be major damage, she decided with relief. He could use his still strong hips to roll himself as she supported his shoulders and neck.

‘Slow,’ she said urgently. ‘Keep it slow.’

A minute later he was lying on his back, practising deep breathing as his leg settled. She took three deep breaths herself and met his gaze. Done. He was still breathing and breathing well. His hands were still moving. There clearly wasn’t an unstable break in the vertebrae.

He was staring up at her with the bluest eyes…

They really were the most extraordinary eyes, she thought, stunned. Or maybe it was just the situation and the relief of having him look up at her with eyes that were lucid.

No. It wasn’t just that. They really were the most extraordinary eyes. His face was mud-stained and etched with strain, the bruise on the side of his forehead was raw and ugly, but she could see laughter lines around his eyes. A wide generous mouth looked as if it was meant for smiling.