They laughed.

‘Very smart,’ Nicolas said.

‘A disgusting level of pragmatism,’ Freddie said. ‘Where’s your faith?’

‘Will they let me bet?’ I asked.

‘I’ll place it for you,’ Freddie said. He stood up and held out his hand. I gave him the notes my father had slipped me on Christmas Day. Freddie counted them, then slapped me on the back.

‘You’re either a bloody idiot or a confident genius,’ he said.

Sylvie leaned over and put her hand on my arm. My skin tingled where she was touching me. ‘Don’t do it if you don’t want to,’ she said.

‘It’s just a bit of fun, darling,’ Freddie said to her.

‘It’s fine,’ I said.

She moved closer to me to let Freddie pick his way out of the grandstand, and her thigh came to rest against mine. I prayed I wouldn’t make a fool of myself, and tried to think of distracting images – suet pudding, my grandmother’s bunions, my father in his undergarments.

‘I hear you had a run-in with Carberry, Theo,’ Nicolas said on my other side.

‘I don’t think he liked me.’

‘He was despicable as usual,’ Sylvie said. She took out a cigarette and Nicolas lit it for her.

‘Maia’s pregnant, you know,’ he said.

‘Oh God. The poor woman.’

‘What did he say to you?’ Nicolas asked me.

‘He was talking about my appearance.’

‘He did that to me as well,’ Nicolas said. ‘The first time we met, he insinuated I was a closet homosexual. I said, if only I were that interesting.’

He smiled at me and I returned it.

‘You’re a hundred times more interesting than John Carberry,’ Sylvie said.

Their easy conversation confused me, knowing what I did about Sylvie feeling trapped. Nicolas was the nicest person I’d met, I thought, and I wondered what it was about him that was wrong for her.

Freddie returned with more pink gin for everyone and a ticket for me. ‘They’re leading them on now,’ he said.

I looked over and saw the eight horses being walked onto the course, saddled and draped with rugs to keep their muscles warm. I recognised Wiley Scot immediately. Even from a distance he seemed to be quivering.

‘Bonne chance,’ Nicolas said.

I made the effort to tear my eyes away from the animals to look at him and offer a smile, although it felt more like a grimace. The blood was thundering through my body as loudly as the horses had sounded earlier, but otherwise everything was strangely quiet. The crowd was waiting, tense. When the grooms removed the rugs and the jockeys sprang up into the saddles, I was convinced I could hear the creak of the leather, and the murmurs as the men tried to calm their mounts. Wiley Scot bucked and did a side-step, looking like he was trying to shake his rider off.

‘He doesn’t want to race,’ Sylvie said.