As we were leaving the stables, a few jockeys were walking in our direction, and they greeted Freddie, slapping him on the back and nodding in my direction.

‘Better watch out, Freddie,’ one of them said. ‘You might have a contender here for the ladies in a few years. He makes you look as ugly as the rest of us.’ Little flecks of spit hit my face as he laughed.

A second one prodded me in the stomach. ‘What sort of little gentleman are you then, sonny? Baron? Earl? Little lord?’

‘I’m not a gentleman.’

‘Good to hear it – a new order for a new world.’ He grinned at Freddie. ‘No one’s told the toffs yet, though.’

‘Don’t mind them,’ Freddie said to me. ‘All the jockeys out here are Englishmen, God save them, so they’re not very bright.’ He was smiling, but his voice was cold. I kept quiet, and the jockeys went on their way, cackling to themselves. When they’d gone Freddie looked me up and down. His expression made it seem as if he’d just thought of something unpleasant.

‘Have you seen enough yet?’ he asked eventually. ‘Not everyone gets to come back here, you know.’

‘Thank you.’

Freddie looked irritated, and I wondered if he’d started to find me dull. I was reminded again of school, and suddenly wanted to go back to the hotel and crawl into my bed.

Freddie shrugged. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said.

The race course was two miles in circumference, with a rickety grandstand near the finishing line, and a small, peeling bandstand in the middle. A band was already playing – the King’s African Rifles Band, Freddie told me – and people were mingling in front of them. As the morning wore on the air became increasingly damp and sticky. Small insects darted through the grass, biting whatever exposed flesh they could find, until I felt as if my ankles were on fire. Freddie found us two glasses of pink gin and I had to stop myself from pressing mine against my forehead to cool down. I was amazed that no one was passing out from the heat.

We drank the gin as Freddie pointed out the officials – the timekeeper, the clerk of the scales and the clerk of the course. The drink was less refreshing than I’d hoped, and following what Freddie was saying became quite difficult. His good mood had disappeared completely, and his eyes were constantly scanning the crowds as if he were looking for someone more interesting to talk to.

‘There you are, Freddie,’ someone said after a particularly long silence between us. ‘Edie left – she said to tell you she was too hot and too pregnant.’

A tall, blue-eyed man wearing a beautifully cut suit had appeared at Freddie’s elbow. He had a gentle face with slightly prominent ears and his voice was gentle too, with a hint of an accent.