‘Gosh, you mustn’t leave!’ I clasped her arm dramatically. ‘You’re my only paid member of staff.’

A fact that I wanted to get to the bottom of soon: how could the business be running with such a tiny team?

She emitted a giggle and shook her head with amusement. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’

Pippa led me along a path that ran down the side of the house and we started to head downhill. To our left leading from the house was a large patio which must have a fantastic view across the entire valley. We went down some steps and through a delightful garden bursting with a tangle of pretty summer flowers: phlox, peonies, roses, aquilegia, cornflowers and a host of others I couldn’t identify. She stopped to open a gate in the middle of a long stone wall which ran at least twenty metres in either direction. At the far side of it was a set of double gates, wide enough for a vehicle to pass through, and a line of tall conifers stood like a row of soldiers leading downhill.

‘I was wondering how grapes would grow well enough to produce a decent crop this far north,’ I marvelled. ‘I guess this wall and those trees protect the vines from some of the worst winds.’

She smiled. ‘Correct, plus we grow cool-climate varieties.’

We went through the gate and the breath caught in my throat.

‘I’ve never been in a vineyard,’ I said, whistling. ‘It’s quite a sight.’

The lush green vines were held in check by thick wires which ran horizontally from post to post and ran in perfect lines to the bottom of the hill. Stripes of long grass dotted with wild red poppies ran between every row and their natural beauty complemented the symmetry of the vines perfectly.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ said Pippa with a happy sigh. ‘It’s such a special place for me; I love being here.’

I eyed her curiously. ‘Did you not want the job of vineyard manager? Surely you’d have been the obvious choice rather than an incomer who knows nothing about winemaking or viticulture?’

She shook her head. ‘All the volunteers asked me the same question but I didn’t want the responsibility. Managing this place would have taken the pleasure out of it for me.’

‘And you’re sure none of the volunteers wanted it either?’ I bit my lip. ‘Because I don’t want to be treading on anyone’s toes.’

‘You won’t be,’ she assured me. ‘Butterworth Wines is a hobby for everyone else. They aren’t here regularly enough to keep a handle on what needs doing and no one wants to take on the commitment.’

‘And the vineyard can run on such limited help?’