Angus, much slighter with only a few dark hairs visible on his chest, was reading poetry, propped sideways on one elbow, but often stopping and looking up at the mellow brickwork of the house, with Virginia creeper trailing between the windows. Sometimes he looked across at me and we exchanged a secret smile.

Olivia lay on her back beside me on another rug, her vivid blue dress pulled up so the hem barely covered her knees, and a wide-brimmed straw hat shading her eyes. She seemed to be asleep. I sat up, sated with sunshine, pulling my skirt down to my ankles. The colours of grass and sky looked dark and intense after I’d lain so long with bright light beating on my eyelids.

The garden was immaculate, laid out on two levels, the upper area where we were lying edged by tall privet hedges. Around us were the scents of guelder roses, buddleia, mock orange, and in the middle of the lawn a fountain played out from the mouth of a stone dolphin on to a bed of water lilies and fish with feathery tails. The cool, sprinkling sound of water was constant. On the lower level of the garden, screened off by conifers from the vegetable patch, stood the round summer-house which the Kemps called the ‘gazebo’. It was made of varnished wood with high windows and had inside a couch and chairs. I’d spent hours playing in there with Livy, in its shadowy light, its musty, exciting smell.

Elizabeth Kemp was sitting in a wicker chair in the shade of the house, a finely woven straw hat on her head, lifelessly turning over the pages of the Queen. She saw me turn to look at her.

‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked in her thin voice. ‘There’s a jug on the table. Or I could have Dawson bring something out?’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, standing up slowly and stretching. ‘I think I’ve had enough sun for now, thank you. I’d like to go and sit inside, if you don’t mind.’ I saw Angus raise his eyes from his book, and knew that if I moved inside he would soon join me.

‘William?’ I called, making sure. ‘Are you all right here?’

‘Mmmm. Want to get through some more of this.’

Olivia didn’t stir.

I walked into the cool of the house, poured a drink of blackcurrant juice, and took it through into the informal sitting room which looked over the garden. It was the more attractive of the two rooms, I thought, the plump settee and chairs covered with trailing flower patterns in pinks and greens, and plants on the windowsills. After a moment, holding the glass against my warm cheek, I saw Angus get up and move towards the house. I smiled, waiting for him to find me inside. As the months passed we were overcoming our inhibited shyness, but our time alone together still felt furtive and stolen.

Angus came in and stood behind me.