The sun was low behind the trees now, and the shadows were thickening between the hedges in the narrow lanes. For a mile or so they skirted a long wall that looked as if it might enclose a park, then suddenly Oliver swung the wheel and the car skidded in through a gateway flanked by tall stone posts. They passed a low building that might have been a gatekeeper’s lodge, its windows warmly lit behind drawn curtains. Beyond the lodge was a driveway, arched over with massive oak trees. As they sped towards it, Helen became aware of the dark, crenellated bulk of a big house sitting squarely on a little rise ahead.

Beside her, Oliver’s face was expressionless.

To one side of the house was an outcrop of lower buildings, and Oliver turned the car decisively towards them. A moment later they were in a cobbled yard, the roar of the Jaguar’s exhaust thrown back at them by the enclosing walls. Oliver vaulted out of the car and simultaneously one of the stable doors swung open. A shaft of yellow light struck across the cobbles.

‘Evening, my lord,’ said the little man who had come out to meet them. He was toothless, brown-skinned and dressed in moleskin trousers and a coat so ancient that all the colour had been drained out of it.

‘Hello, Jasper,’ said Oliver, grinning at him. ‘Where are they?’

‘End barn, my lord.’

‘Come and see them too, Helen. This is Jasper Thripp, by the way. Miss Brown, Jasper.’

‘Evening, miss,’ said the little man, and hobbled towards the door of the end barn.

Uncomprehending, Helen followed them.

Inside the barn were the mingled smells of bran, paraffin from a heater, and warm milk. In a large box near the heater was a beagle bitch, surrounded by a warm, wriggling mass of brown, black and white-patched puppies. Oliver stooped over them, murmuring endearments to the mother as he lifted each pup in turn. His face was soft in the harsh light cast by the bare, cobwebbed lightbulb overhead. As he turned the puppies to and fro, running a practised finger over their legs and backs, Helen saw that his hands were long and sensitive like the hands in an eighteenth-century portrait. At length he nodded and smiled at Jasper. ‘Three first-rate, and a couple more pretty good. Yes?’

Jasper sucked at his toothless gums. ‘Yup. I’d say so. She’s done well this time, the old gel.’ They were talking as equals now.

When the last of the pups had been gently returned to the security of its box, Oliver moved aside briskly. The softness was gone from his face, replaced by the more familiar authoritative mask.

‘We’ll give them a couple more weeks, then pick the ones we need for the pack.’

‘Right you are, my lord.’

Master and servant again, Helen thought.