Pippa pulled a doubtful face. ‘The vines cover about ten acres and between us Ted and I used to be able to just about manage. The last few months have been a bit of a stretch for me. The volunteers have been great since Ted became ill, putting in extra time, but they all have their own lives to lead.’

‘So no one is going to resent being managed by a complete novice?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘Godfrey rang me last night to tell me about your appointment. We’re all really pleased. Believe me, you’re doing everyone a favour.’

‘That’s good to know,’ I said with relief.

Pippa pulled a small tube of suncream from her pocket and rubbed it on her bare shoulders. She caught me looking. ‘Even with factor fifty on, I can burn, I’d love a nice tan like yours.’

‘Ah, but one of us will look like a leather sole when we hit sixty and one of us won’t,’ I said with a grin. ‘So tell me about the vines.’

We walked on and Pippa explained in quiet, economical sentences that the grapes grown here were Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier – the three varieties traditionally used to produce champagne. British producers weren’t allowed to call their sparkling wine champagne, of course; the name was protected by the French. But Butterworth Wines had been perfecting their own brand of sparkling wine for years and according to Pippa, who’d had it on good authority from Ted, it was as good as anything to come out of France, and without the price tag.

Each row was eight hundred metres long with a break halfway down to allow easier access. I learned that there were ten thousand vines, roughly a third of each variety, and that it was possible for one mature vine to produce enough grapes for one bottle of wine.

‘And these are mature, by the look of them,’ I said, trailing my hands through the soft leaves.

‘Most of them are about nine years old, so yes, fully matured,’ Pippa confirmed. ‘They’ve more or less finished flowering now, but there’s still a few vines in flower in the cooler corners. Look.’

She lifted the leaves of a vine to show me a thumb-sized stem covered in tight green buds. Some of the buds had sprouted fine white threads which gave the bunch a fluffy effect.

‘The white fronds are the flowers. And once they’ve been pollinated they’ll form grapes and then these little bunches will hang downwards instead of facing up towards the sun.’

‘They’re much prettier than I imagined.’ I bent to smell the flowers. ‘Pear drops.’

‘Exactly.’ Pippa looked pleased. We carried on down the row, tucking overgrown tendrils back into the wires as we walked.