Charity was mucking out the pigsty. ‘Oh, hello you!’ she said, as she spotted Maggie. She straightened up, leaned on her pitchfork and shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘Escaped the clutches of the typewriter? Good for you. It’s Maggie, isn’t it?’

Maggie nodded, pleased to have been remembered. Charity looked so different from last night. Gone was the red party dress, high heels and make-up. Today she was dressed for work, in breeches, a headscarf, a green jersey with a shirt underneath, long socks and lace-ups.

‘Say, aren’t you missing lunch?’ Charity asked, frowning.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. ‘Didn’t fancy it. It’s rook pie or something with squirrels in it.’

Charity laughed. ‘Who on earth told you that? I think they might have been pulling your leg. They eat pretty well in the house, I hear.’

In truth, Maggie had decided to skip lunch and find Charity instead. It was a sunny day and it was a relief to stand up, stretch and get some fresh air. She hadn’t moved from her desk all morning and her hands were aching from pounding the stiff typewriter keys.

Before they went in for lunch, her colleagues had made the most of the September sunshine and spilled out onto the lawn, to smoke, chat and stroll over the grass to take a look at the swimming pool.

Maggie had spotted the old chap who’d brought their bags up yesterday, pushing a wheelbarrow and had asked him where she might find the Land Girls. He’d pointed her in the direction of the small farm behind the stable block, where the girls were working.

‘This all used to be flower borders,’ Charity said now. ‘That’s my pal Gill over there, cleaning out the chickens.’

The pig – gosh, it was enormous – was feeding noisily from a bucket of slops, while Charity used a pitchfork to lift dirty straw from around it and pile it up in a barrow.

‘Don’t mind if I carry on, do you?’ Charity said. ‘Nearly finished and then it’ll be time for lunch.’

Maggie stepped back as the stench from the pig hit her nostrils.

Charity laughed. ‘Stinks, doesn’t he? Breathe through your mouth, that’s best.’

There was a smudge of mud on her chin.

‘Look at the size of it!’ Maggie said. ‘I didn’t realise pigs were so big. What on earth do you feed it?’

Charity laughed. ‘He’s called Bing. He’s part of the village pig club. Everyone collects scraps for him and he has acorns and conkers too. They’ll all get a share … well, you know …’ She lowered her voice. ‘When the time comes. But in the meantime, he’s happy enough.’

She must have noticed Maggie gazing at her clothes because she glanced down at her breeches. ‘Like the outfit? I only joined the Land Army for the uniform. And to meet a handsome farmer!’