The lady who walks her dog past my horses every day was obviously eager to tell me something. I have exchanged only a few polite words with her in the past but as she made her way slowly towards my field gate, she lingered, cutting a lonely figure.

‘Let’s go and talk to that lady,’ I said to the builder boyfriend, who was busy holding Darcy the thoroughbred by her lead rope, scratching her neck as she likes him to do, while I put her rug on.