For a hundred yards they walked on in silence. Something nagged at Helen, making her want to go on questioning him.

‘Why did you do it?’

Oliver sighed impatiently. ‘For God’s sake, I hate post-mortems and heart-to-hearts about who did what and why. Can’t we just leave things as they are?’

He’s as embarrassed as I am, Helen realised, and subsided at once. She had said what she needed to, however awkwardly it had come out and however awkwardly it had been received. There was no point in pressing him.

Oliver resumed his whistling, then broke off and pointed across an open field. ‘Look. We’ve set up a fox. Can you see him go?’

Helen followed his finger and saw a tall red-brown shape plunge into the shelter of a little copse.

‘I’ve never seen one before,’ she told him, and he laughed incredulously.

‘You’ve never hunted?’

Now it was Helen’s turn to laugh. ‘Of course I’ve never hunted. Do I look the type?’

They had reached the top of a little hill and they looked back the way they had come. The chimneys of Stephen’s house were just visible among the trees.

‘Well, you’re missing out on the second most exciting experience in life.’ He grinned at her, then pulled her arm comfortably through his as they began the walk back. Helen’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on his arm. She was barely listening to what he was saying, the effect of being close to him again was so potent.

‘Hey, I’ve got an idea. What are you doing after Christmas? Come to Montcalm for a couple of days, help me face out the family party. You can follow the New Year meet, and there’s the Hunt Ball at the house as well. Yes?’

Helen’s first instinct was to say no, she couldn’t possibly. She had only the vaguest idea of what Montcalm could be like, but she was sure it would be terrifying. Then a thrill of bemused excitement shot through her. He was asking her to stay with him. He wanted to see her. Illogical, irrepressible hope bubbled inside her.

She would go.

Helen swung round to face him and skipped a few steps backwards down the lane. ‘Shall I? I will if you promise to brief me very carefully first so that I don’t put every foot wrong. My experience of stately homes is limited to lining up between the red ropes.’

‘Darling Helen, what can you be expecting? Footmen in powdered wigs and carriages at the door?’

She nodded so vigorously that the curls swung around her face. ‘Oh yes, at the very least. And four-poster beds, and tweenies bringing up hot water in enamel jugs.’

‘Too much television, my girl. So you’ll come?’

‘Yes.’