Lady Ashford was there, in the thick of it all, on her wild black horse. It was as lively as ever and she was having to turn it in circles to bring it back into place.

‘Quite a spectacle, isn’t it?’ Lord Ashford asked, emerging from the front door. He was wearing his thick winter coat and a hat. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to hold the meet here this year, given the situation, but my wife can be very persuasive.’

‘You don’t ride yourself, Sir?’ Ray asked.

‘Good gracious, no. I leave all the dangerous stuff to my wife. She’s in her element, as you can see.’

Maggie wondered whether Lord Ashford minded all the attentive men gathered around his wife, like bees around a honeypot.

‘I always tell her,’ he continued, ‘as long as she comes back in one piece, she can do as she likes. You should see the size of the hedges they jump.’ He lifted his hand to his forehead. ‘Nearly as tall as me.’

Lady Ashford would have made a good Spitfire pilot, Maggie thought. Or a spy! She was so brave, it seemed rather a waste that she spent all her time charging about on a horse or living it up at The Dorchester.

‘Right, I’d better go and say a few hellos.’

Lord Ashford trotted down the steps, pulling his coat around him and started greeting riders, most of whom were now sipping from the stirrup cup.

‘Hard to believe there’s a war on, isn’t it?’ Ray mused.

Maggie nodded. ‘That’s what I was thinking. But I suppose life has to go on. We can’t all sit around being miserable and feeling sorry for ourselves. We have to get on with it. I think, as long as you’re not hurting anyone else, you have to enjoy yourself, wherever you can.’

Ray looked at her rather strangely and his mouth twisted. ‘Quite the little philosopher aren’t we, these days?’ He held up the empty glass in his gloved hand. ‘I’m going to have another. Do you want one?’

She shook her head, smiling to herself as she watched Ray approach one of the waiters. He was getting used to this way of life. They all were. How would they cope when the war finally ended and they had to go back to their humdrum lives?

She turned and looked up at Snowden Hall, with its honey-coloured stone, the huge front door and the rows and rows of white-framed windows. A palace, that’s how she’d thought of it when she first arrived.