‘It will be neither.’ Sidney stood and turned to the winery desk. On it were five glass jugs, each containing half a litre of clear liquid. In front of each jug was a slip of paper on which was written its precise contents – the proportions of Butterworth’s three grape varieties plus some tiny additions that I couldn’t make out. Option two, which Matt had been talking about, was made from 55 per cent Chardonnay, 12 per cent Pinot Noir and 33 per cent Pinot Meunier. The others were all slight variations on those quantities.

He worked his way along the samples, from option one to five, pouring a quarter of a glass of each, holding it up to the light and examining it, before inhaling deeply and lastly tasting it. He drew air in over his tongue, pushing it around his mouth.

Finally, he nodded and turned to Matt. ‘Rightio, young man. Let’s do an option six. As option four but lower the Noir by one per cent and increase the Meunier by the same.’

‘On it.’ Matt jumped up and set to work and once the blend was done and the proportions written down on paper, he poured Sidney a small glass of it.

I held my breath as Sidney tasted it.

‘Well?’ said Clare, unable to contain herself.

The blissful smile on Sidney’s face said it all. He lifted his glass up and addressed the ceiling. ‘Ted Butterworth, my dear old friend, we’re going to do you proud.’

Matt poured some for the rest of us and we all tasted what would become Butterworth’s Classic Cuvée 2017. Clare and Matt made appreciative noises, smacking their lips while Sidney made notes and I took my time, practising my wine-tasting skills, rolling it around my tongue with my eyes closed, identifying its unique notes, spitting it out into an empty glass. My ability to detect flavours had improved a hundredfold since being at Butterworth’s, as had my confidence to say what I tasted.

When I opened my eyes, Sidney was looking at me warmly. ‘Does it pass muster?’

I nodded. ‘It smells delicious: baked apples and caramel, and I tasted sharp fruit, but not too acidic. But most of all—’ I stopped, realizing that I was about to head into fairy-tale territory.

Sidney leaned back on the desk and twirled the end of his moustache. ‘Most of all?’

Matt and Clare were listening now.

‘Well, it’s magical,’ I said, feeling silly. ‘I know it’s just a glass of wine, but when I taste it, it conjures up a picnic on an English summer’s day, with sunshine and cakes and laughter and games of rounders. And, well, it makes me happy, that’s all.’

Matt swallowed hard. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing Ted would have said,’ he said gruffly.

‘Oh honey,’ said Clare with a sniff, ‘I think you’ve summed it up perfectly.’