‘Wait, Nico,’ Sylvie said. She passed Roderigo to me and followed Nicolas to the corner of the lawn where Samson was snoozing in the sun. They were just out of earshot, but I could see Nicolas’s face soften as Sylvie touched his shoulder. I picked up the discarded racquet and swatted at a fly with it. There was a tiny, satisfying thud.

‘Well,’ Freddie said. ‘I better get back to Edie.’

‘Don’t leave on my account,’ Rupert said. ‘Here – I’ve got your money.’

Freddie waved it away. ‘Spend it on something nice for Sylvie. Or a bottle for Nico.’

Rupert laughed. ‘You think I’m a cad.’ He picked up the tennis ball and smashed it over the net at Freddie, making him duck.

Freddie raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling. ‘I know you’re a cad.’

‘I wouldn’t have to worry all the time if my damn parents weren’t so tight with the purse-strings.’

‘Then it’s my gift to you. But be gentle with her.’

Rupert had turned away and didn’t seem to be listening. ‘My love,’ he called. ‘You do make the nicest tableaux.’

I followed his gaze. Nicolas was standing behind Sylvie, one hand on her shoulder, looking affectionately down at the scene in front of him. Sylvie was kneeling in front of Samson; as we watched she planted a kiss on the lion’s nose and he yawned then nuzzled her. I ached to be him.

‘What do you say to packing in the game and drinking gin sours instead?’ Rupert asked.

Sylvie laughed. ‘We never turn down a drink in this house.’

‘I’m sorry, Nico.’

Nicolas shrugged.

I accepted Freddie’s offer of a ride home.

‘That was dramatic, wasn’t it?’ he said, as The Farm disappeared from the rear-view mirror.

‘I don’t understand why Sylvie likes Rupert.’

‘She’s contrary,’ Freddie said. ‘Take the wheel for a moment?’

I grasped it while he searched his pockets.

‘What do you think of him?’

Freddie pulled out a cigarette, lit it then took back the wheel. ‘He can be good fun. He never holds a grudge, either. And he’s a true-blue at least.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Blue blood, my sort. It’s the way we were brought up, you know. No boundaries.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Don’t feel too jealous – I’m sure it’ll blow over.’

‘I’m not jealous.’

‘Of course you are – that’s exactly how I would have felt at your age.’

My ears pounded with blood, and I felt a strange urge to cry. Freddie was talking as if I’d never gone to the party, as if I hadn’t changed. ‘You don’t know everything about me.’

‘I know you’re what we call a “short-fuse”.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Really. It’s the fiery Celt in you.’

I drummed my fingers on my knee.

‘Now I’ve offended Boy Genius.’

‘Stop calling me that.’