We chatted for a few minutes, introducing ourselves. Matt ran a pub in a nearby village with his girlfriend but they had grand plans to move to France and open their own guest house one day; and Clare, who I guessed to be in her late forties, seemed to split her time between the vineyard and the gym, and was involved with lots of committees to keep herself busy now that her children had left home. Despite Matt’s comment, they both seemed very knowledgeable about Butterworth Wines.

For the next twenty minutes or so I helped them with ‘racking off’, which I learned meant filtering the wine to get rid of the sediment by transferring it from one tank to another.

‘This is last year’s Pinot Meunier,’ said Matt. ‘It’s been in the tank for eight months now.’

‘When will it be ready for bottling?’ I asked.

Clare pulled a face. ‘We’ve never had to make that decision; it was always Ted’s job.’

‘But I think it’s there, as near as dammit,’ said Matt, rubbing the dark stubble on his jawline.

‘And can you handle the bottling when it is ready?’ I asked.

‘Bottling is no problem.’ He sniffed, puffing out his chest. ‘I can work all this kit with my eyes shut.’

‘It’s blending that’s the tricky bit. The 2017 vintage has all got to be blended first before bottling to make our three wines,’ Clare chipped in, chewing her lip. ‘None of us are confident enough to do that. It’s a massive responsibility.’

I nodded; Pippa had said something similar last week. It seemed to me that a winery manager was needed as much, if not more, than a vineyard manager.

Matt agreed with Clare. ‘Get the blend wrong and that’s an entire harvest down the drain.’

‘All our lovely new tanks are full.’ Clare pointed to the row to our left. ‘These are the Meuniers, the Chardonnay is at one end and the Pinot Noir is at the other.’

‘New?’ I said, taking in the long line of gleaming stainless-steel vessels.

She smiled sadly. ‘Ted was so excited to make the first sparkling wine from these tanks this year. So sad he’ll never get to taste it.’

‘Surely between us, we can carry on without him?’ I said. But looking at the doubt on their faces, perhaps not. ‘Or is that impossible?’

‘Truth is, the only person who really knows, or should I say knew, how to create the perfect wine was Ted.’ Matt folded his arms and flexed his biceps one at a time. ‘We’ve got to find a way to do him proud. I owe a lot to that guy. This wine’s not leaving Butterworth’s until it’s as good as he’d have got it. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.’