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‘You know, you could still go back to university,’ he said eagerly. ‘You could do your teaching qualification. It’s never too late.’

‘Maybe I will one day. Or maybe I’ll do something else.’

‘Something else?’

‘Yeah. I don’t know what. I’m not sure I’m cut out for teaching.’

‘But it’s what you always wanted to do!’

‘Things don’t always work out how we planned, though, do they, Dad? Things change. People change. You just have to go with the flow. And here I am.’

His eyes narrowed and Polly knew he was still struggling to understand what she was doing here in the first place. He wasn’t daft enough to jump straight into another argument, though. He was quiet for a few moments, considering his next words. She just hoped he’d pick wisely.

‘It was very good of Betty to ring here and tell them to make sure you ate,’ he said finally.

Polly gave a sigh of relief. Even Rissa couldn’t find fault with that statement! She wondered suddenly why all this mattered to her so much. She felt invested in the happiness of these two people and, when she thought about it, that was just daft. They were strangers to her, after all.

And yet, although they had no idea of it, they were connected to her in a way they couldn’t possibly imagine. She wanted – needed – them to work things out.

‘I told you,’ Rissa said cautiously, ‘Betty’s a good woman. Takes care of me. Takes care of all of us at the farm.’

‘You live at the farmhouse?’

‘No. I share a cottage on the farm with the others.’

Polly knew which cottage she was talking about.

Rowan Cottage was an old farm labourer’s dwelling, where Joan, Cissie and Kathleen had lived during the war.

She’d been to some riotous parties there, as she recalled.

Helen and Alf had been very good at turning a blind eye.

In fact, Helen had attended a few of them herself, and they’d all had a proper giggle.

‘What others?’ Max asked sharply, dragging Polly’s attention back to the present.

Rissa seemed to consider her answer, but then she shrugged and said, ‘Erin, Bram and Lars.’

‘Who are Bram and Lars?’

Polly wrinkled her nose. Uh-oh.

‘They’re the two lads who work on the farm with me. They play the German prisoners of war,’ she said heavily.

‘I see.’ He bit his lip as he digested this information. ‘That’s a lot to unpack.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘For one thing, you’re sharing a house with two men!’

‘Dad, I’m twenty-six,’ Rissa said impatiently. ‘Even if I was having wild sex with them every night?—’

‘Larissa!’

‘Even if I was,’ she continued firmly, ‘it would be none of your business. I’m a grown woman. As it happens, we’re just mates. We work hard during the day, and we have a laugh in the evening, and it’s all good. Okay?’

‘Are you seeing one of these men?’

‘No! I just told you, we’re mates.’

‘I see. And are you in a relationship with anyone ?’

Rissa’s gaze dropped to the table, and she muttered, ‘Not any more.’

‘So you were? Who was he?’

Polly rolled her eyes. Give the girl a break!

‘It really doesn’t matter,’ Rissa said dully. ‘And that’s not what you want to ask, is it?’

‘It isn’t?’

‘No, you want to ask me if Lars and Bram are German. Well, no, they’re not, as it happens.

They’re Dutch. But before you start reading anything into that, I’ll just tell you that last year, we had two Belgians masquerading as Italian PoWs, so don’t start going on about prejudice again.

I’ve told you, you’re on the wrong track.

Betty and Nick aren’t like that. They have no prejudice towards Germans. ’

‘So you told them your parents were German?’

Rissa’s blush returned. ‘Well, no. But only because it never came up. Why should it? I was born here in the UK, so why would I mention it?’

‘Or maybe,’ he said darkly, ‘deep down, you knew how they would react.’

‘You know something, Dad? You’re completely insane!’ Rissa pushed her chair back and half-stood, just as Paige arrived with their order.

‘Sit down, Rissa. Please,’ Max begged.

Rissa looked torn, but Polly had the idea that the cheese sandwiches had swayed her. Evidently, that bag of crisps hadn’t filled her up, just as Betty had predicted.

Paige looked a bit awkward but, at Max’s bidding, she placed the cups, plate and pots of coffee on the table, then left them to it.

‘Look,’ Rissa said flintily, ‘it’s not about nationality, okay?

It’s whoever applies for the job. We get a lot of international students here, keen to get some work experience in the UK for a few months.

And, for your information, it’s not Nick and Betty who hire them.

It’s the owner of the estate. If anyone’s prejudiced around here, it’s you. ’

‘I am not prejudiced!’ Max said indignantly.

‘Yes, you are. You’re anti-British.’

‘How can you say that? I’ve lived here nearly thirty years! I’ve worked here. I’ve raised my daughter here. I love this country. You know this, Rissa.’

‘All right,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but you’re anti-Rowan Vale.’

‘I am not anti-Rowan Vale. But you must understand how I feel? Those diaries?—’

‘Oh!’ Rissa flung herself back in her chair. ‘Those bloody diaries! I wish you’d never read them. You’re obsessed. Look, Dad, you have no proof that your grandad was badly treated here. Just a few entries in your mum’s diaries and you’ve pounced on her words and made something huge out of nothing.’

Polly leaned closer. They were talking about Gerhard and his time in Rowan Vale!

‘That’s not so. My mother nursed her father in his final years.

’ Max shook his head sadly. ‘He said such awful things about that time. He cried , Rissa. He cried when he spoke of Rowan Vale. And it was only in his final few weeks that he mentioned the place at all. He never talked about it at all before then. Don’t you think that’s strange? ’

‘No, Dad, I don’t. You surely know as well as I do that men who went through the war seldom spoke about it afterwards. It’s well documented. A way of coping with the things they saw.’

‘But that’s just it! My grandfather did speak of it!

He spoke of his capture in Normandy. Of being taken to a prisoner of war camp just a few miles from here.

He spoke about his fellow prisoners, and about the camp guards, and what life was like in there.

But he never, ever mentioned Rowan Vale.

Not until he was dying. Now why do you think that was? ’

‘Maybe he just forgot about it?’

‘Forgot? Don’t be ridiculous, Rissa. You said yourself, soldiers did not talk about the things that distressed them because it was too much for them, and silence was their way of coping.

What was so bad about Rowan Vale that he could bring himself to tell us about the horrors of Normandy, but could not mention this place? Tell me that.’

Polly covered her face with her hands as Rissa gasped, ‘Dad, he was rambling! He was confused. You said so yourself. You went to see him before he died and you said half of what he said didn’t make any sense, remember?’

‘I should have listened more. I should have paid closer attention. I wish I had.’

‘The only reason you’re paying any attention now is because you don’t want to acknowledge what’s really hurting you.

Face it, you don’t want to think about Mum so you’re switching all your emotions to this ridiculous vendetta against Betty and Rowan Vale.

You know, deep down, that there’s nothing to it. ’

‘If that’s the case,’ he said coldly, ‘why did you come here? What were you looking for, eh? It’s some coincidence that you find a job here, of all places. I refuse to believe that you’re not here for a reason.’

‘I’m here because the job was advertised, and I thought it would be interesting.

I’ll admit I thought it was cool that it was where Great-Grandad was put to work during the war, but that’s as far as it goes.

You know I love history. I thought working at a living history village would be good experience, and I was right.

But it could just as easily have been a job at the mill museum, or here, waiting tables.

It didn’t have to be the actual farm. I’m not that hung up on the past, unlike you. ’

‘That may be the case,’ Max said, ‘but if so, why are you still here? You said yourself that people come for a few months’ work experience, and you only intended to be here for six months, yet you’ve been here a year and a half. Why?’

Polly’s gaze slid slowly over to Rissa, and she felt a stab of compassion for the girl who had suddenly gone pale.

‘I told you. I like it here,’ she muttered.

‘I don’t believe you. There has to be something more than that,’ her father replied.

Polly sighed. Max had a point, but it dawned on her that Rissa was more than likely hanging around for Brodie.

She hadn’t moved on at all, despite him courting Callie.

And there was no way on earth the poor girl was ever going to admit it – especially to the father who was clearly looking for any excuse to hate this place and everyone in it.

Rissa ate a sandwich in silence and Max, after waiting in vain for an answer, half-heartedly sipped his coffee. Finally, the torturous meal was over, and Rissa announced she had to be getting back to work.

‘No need to visit again, Dad,’ she said, her lower lip trembling slightly as she got to her feet. ‘I’ll come to yours before the summer holidays are over. Promise. I wouldn’t want to put you through the trauma of coming to Rowan Vale again.’

‘I’d like it if you visited me,’ Max admitted. ‘But I still think I’m right about what happened to my grandfather, and I will prove it.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ Rissa demanded.

Max hesitated. ‘I should like to visit the farm properly. I should like to talk to this Betty and see if she volunteers anything about what happened in her grandparents’ day.

And then I will visit Jimmy at Starling Cottage as he suggested, and we will talk.

I’m sure he’ll have some stories to tell me about what really went on at Rowan Farm back then.

I know he’s not old enough to have been there at the time, but his parents will have been.

People talk. Families remember. I’m sure he can be of some use or point me in the direction of someone who will be. ’

Polly wasn’t sure whether to be angry with Max or sad for him. This fella really was in the grip of an obsession. But the last thing she wanted was him digging around in the past, stirring up things that were best left forgotten. And she definitely didn’t want Jimmy involved.

She’d better visit Starling Cottage this evening, as she’d promised, and see how Jimmy really felt about Max Meyer. Had he truly liked him, or was he just being polite when he suggested he pop round?

For the first time in a long time, Polly felt fear. Not remembered fear of the past, but real fear of the present, and for the future. For what this man could stir up. If he didn’t let things lie, he could cause more pain than he’d ever imagine.

Well, not on her watch. She sat up straight and lifted her head defiantly. She wouldn’t let it happen. Over her dead body… Ah. Not while she had breath left… Hmm. Well anyway, she’d stop Max Meyer somehow. You just see if she didn’t.