Without taking her eyes off him, as if afraid that he would disappear, Helen followed. His car was in the cobbled closeness of Merton Lane. Briefly they were driving through the stale streets, and then in the open country. Tom took them through green lanes where the hawthorn hedges seemed almost to meet overhead, and then up the slopes of a long hill. At last he stopped in a gateway at the end of a lane shadowed with elms. Tom unhooked the gate for her to walk through. Side by side they came out on to a wide, grassy hillside. Below them lay the Thames valley, moist greens and blues patched with squares of yellow, and the river threading through it like a dull silver ribbon. Oxford lay in the middle distance, a grey hump with a centre of improbable gold.

‘Does that put it in perspective?’ Tom asked, laughter in his voice.

Helen sighed with pleasure.

‘Perfectly. Very beautiful, and a long way off.’

Tom had brought a basket with him from the car. Now he unpacked it; champagne flutes laughably elegant in the rough grass, raspberries in a nest of leaves and a pot of thick yellow cream, and the champagne bottle itself misted with cold beads. When he poured it for her Helen saw that it was pink, and it tasted of flowers and fruit like the distilled essence of the afternoon itself.

‘Sustenance for the survivor,’ Tom said and they touched their glasses together. The back of his brown hand grazed hers and pink froth spilled over her fingers. Tom propped himself lazily on one elbow and smiled at her.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘when you came out of that fearful doorway, you looked as if you’d just won an Olympic gold. Quite intoxicated with your own prowess. Very immodest, with all those shell-shocked faces teeming around you.’

Helen put her head back and laughed, feeling the meadow grass tickling her face. Tom watched the line of her throat against the green.

‘I think I quite enjoyed it. What an admission. But I’m so, so glad it’s over now.’

‘And so am I. Look, eat some of these.’

Tom held a heaped spoonful of raspberries out to her and she lifted her head to reach it. She tasted the smooth bowl of the spoon and then sweetness filled her mouth. Scarlet juice spilled down her chin. With the tip of his finger, Tom dammed the trickle, then he put his finger to his mouth and licked it clean. Helen’s breath caught in her chest.

The simple intimacy of the gesture struck closer to her than any kiss had ever done.