‘Are you out of your mind?’ she demanded. ‘You’ll drown.’

This was hardly a warm welcome. Maybe she could invite him into the truck, he thought, but only fleetingly for it wasn’t an option. Opening the door would mean they’d all be soaked.

‘Where are you headed?’ she asked. She obviously thought he’d stopped to ask directions. As she would. Visitors wouldn’t make it here unless they badly wanted to come, and even then they were likely to miss the place. All he’d seen so far were sodden cows, the cattle-grid in which this truck was stuck, and a battered milkcan that obviously served as a mail box, stuck onto a post beside the gate. Fading lettering painted on the side said ‘D & G Kettering’.

D & G Kettering. The G would be Gianetta.

It was four years since Gianetta and her husband had died. He’d have expected the sign to be down by now.

What was this woman doing here? Hell, the agency had given him so little information. ‘Frankly we can see no reason why Ms Donohue is there,’ they’d said. ‘We suspect the farm must be substantial, giving her financial incentive to stay. We assume, however, that eventually the farm will belong to the boy, so there’s no security in her position. Given her situation, we suspect any approach by you to take responsibility will be welcome.’

They weren’t right about the farm being substantial. This farm looked impoverished.

He needed to tread carefully while he found out what the agency hadn’t.

‘I was searching for the Kettering farm,’ he told her. ‘I’m assuming this is it? Are you Phillippa Donohue?’

‘I’m Pippa, yes.’ Her face clouded. ‘Are you from the dairy corporation? You’ve stopped buying our milk. You’ve stopped our payments. What else can you stop?’

‘I’m not from the dairy corporation.’

She stared. ‘Not?’

‘I came to see you.’

‘No one comes to see me.’

‘Well, the child,’ he told her. ‘I’m Marc’s cousin.’