Gareth looked impressed. ‘God, Maddy. A double whammy. That’s not like you. You’re usually so kind to everyone. I thought I was the only person in Milton St John who could put both feet in my mouth at one go.’ Gareth patted her shoulder in a vague gesture of sympathetic solidarity and drifted back to his drinks.

Maddy stared out across the darkening gardens and distractedly scooped up a handful of leek brioches. Diana had ordered far too much food considering the vast majority of the guests were weight-watching. It was one of the joys of Milton St John’s social life. There was always plenty to eat.

Heaping her plate, Maddy hunched into the window seat and tried to become invisible. Not for the first time she wished she had Suzy’s lightning reflexes in moments of disaster. Suzy would have flirted with Drew Fitzgerald and told him that he’d have to prove her wrong. Suzy would have assured Mrs Pugh that her balding, buck-toothed Bernie was the sexiest thing in Milton St John. Suzy would never have blushed and stammered and apologised. It was thoroughly demoralising to have a seventeen-year-old sister who had been born grown up.

Naturally, she was munching her way through a prawn tartlet when Peter Knightley arrived.

‘Maddy!’ His seductive voice was straight out of her dreams. ‘Maddy! How wonderful to see you again. How are you?’

‘Fine …’ she mumbled, trying to swallow. ‘Hello, Peter …’

The fifteen months three weeks and two days hadn’t taken their toll on Peter. He was still gloriously golden.

‘You’ve lost weight.’ Peter was helping himself to salad, ignoring the dressings. ‘It suits you. You look super.’

‘Thanks.’ Had she? Did she? Maybe the Slimfast had worked after all.

She was trying to lick traces of mayonnaise from the corner of her lips as Peter turned from the table. ‘Very provocative, Maddy.’ The blue eyes crinkled and so did her stomach. She still fancied him. And her body wanted him with an urgency that hurt.

‘Diana said you’d be here.’ Her voice was squeaky but at least she’d swallowed. ‘Did things not work out in London?’

‘Things worked out brilliantly.’ Peter lodged himself beside her on the window seat. He was only inches away. ‘That’s why I’m back.’

He wanted her to ask why, so she deliberately said nothing. He left if for thirty seconds then, with only the merest trace of irritation, said, ‘I’m here to share some of my good fortune with Milton St John. After all, the village was very good to me. I want to return the favour.’

He was obviously itching for her to gasp girlishly, to hang on his every word, but she damn well wasn’t going to.

‘Yes, well, I’m planning to invest some of the profits from the health and fitness clubs into a little project the whole village can share.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what, then? You were always so interested in what I did.’