“Darn!" I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Six o’clock news — I forgot!"

"Oh darling, she's fab," Babs turned to me breathily. "Looks adorable, all pert breasts and shiny lip gloss and positively pulls you in with her gorgeous liquid brown eyes. She's mesmerizing!"

Iris rolled her own eyes. "What she means is she's thoroughly competent, word perfect and never stumbles. What she looks like is immaterial."

"And she's quite the local celeb," Babs went on, "opened a fête in Manaccan the other day."

"No!"

“Absolutely! Cut a ribbon and everything!"

For a moment I felt ridiculously jealous that others were more in the loop than me. Shona was my friend. I mean, obviously I didn't live here, but also . . . well. We hadn't kept in touch as much as we'd hoped, Shona and I. Busy lives, different cities — Shona had started as a reporter in Liverpool, then Manchester, now here. Some would say a backwater after those two, but I completely understood a primal urge to return to just about the nicest place on the planet.

"And does she love it here, now that she's back? Is she happy?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me, despite wanting to hear all from the horse's mouth.

"I believe so, but you'll know more, I'm sure." Babs turned. "Oh, look at this for style! Putting us all to shame!"

I turned to see Tommy and Janey emerging from a back door which led from the rear of the house. They were dressed in snowy white jodhpurs, shiny high black boots, crisp shirts, and looked far more professional than the rest of us. I took a breath to quell disappointment. Right. For a moment there I'd thought perhaps Hugo. Janey's blonde hair was tied back with a black velvet ribbon and she had bright red lipstick as a nod to glamor.

"Hi, Flora! Babs!" She gave us a cheery wave as she went across to her horse at the far end. Tommy's chestnut was beside mine. As he crossed the yard with his swaying, slightly swaggering gait which I was sure he put on, clearly going for the John Wayne look, his face wore its habitual mocking smile I remembered of old. So irresponsible himself, so judgmental of others.

"Flora. What a treat. Dressed for the occasion, I see?" He snapped a stirrup down and put on his hard hat, an elaborate affair with chin rest, strap and buckles. "You clearly ride as you paint, in whatever comes to hand."

"When have you ever seen me paint?"

"I went for a run this morning. Spotted you and Roger in the naughty room, disobeying orders."

I sighed. “Spying, as usual." No longer the socially insecure ingenue of years ago, I wasn’t going to be intimidated by Tommy Rochester. "And you're right, I do rather swerve the sartorial element. I find people tend to hide behind it. Mistake it for skill."