‘Could you?’ Drew pulled away and looked at her. ‘Because I bloody well couldn’t. I want to touch you, to be with you, to talk about you all the time. I want to behave like some besotted schoolboy and scrawl your name on every wall in the village.’

Maddy understood but she wasn’t going to tell him about all the ‘Maddy Fitzgeralds’ she’d scribbled on her pad.

‘How long will she be here for?’

‘No idea.’ Drew picked up Maddy’s black jacket from the pile of coats beside the front door and wrapped it round her shoulders. ‘As soon as I got Kit’s message, I rang him and Caroline, but they both had their answering machines switched on.’ He looked at her gently ‘Are you still OK for the Cat and Fiddle?’

She nodded, ‘Under the circumstances I think it’s the best place to be. At least I won’t disgrace myself in there by trying to remove your clothes.’

Drew’s eyes sparkled as he opened the door. ‘Pity.’

The pub was packed. Because of the fretful night, the atmosphere was warm and damp, rather like a conservatory. The whole village seemed to be squashed around the tables or standing three-deep at the bar. It was the last opportunity they’d have before tomorrow’s Epsom exodus. Most of the trainers and jockeys travelled to Surrey at least a day before the meeting, to walk the course, settle the horses, and generally pick each other’s brains.

Suzy was chatting up one of the Channel Four presenters and gave Maddy a huge wink as she and Drew walked in. Maddy gave a rictus smile in return and scuttled to a table in the far corner which was usually unoccupied because it was reputed to be haunted or something.

While Drew barged his way through to the bar, Maddy peered at her reflection in the steamed-up window. Would everybody know? Wasn’t there something about a woman’s eyes being different after making love? Or was that after losing one’s virginity? It didn’t really matter. It seemed to Maddy that her eyes, alternating between feverishly glittering happiness and abysmal sadness, screamed mistress.

Even Diana and Gareth were in the Cat and Fiddle tonight, talking animatedly to John Francome about the joys of having The Derby first and second favourites in their yard. Mitchell D’Arcy, wearing an extra helping of heavy gold jewellery, was beaming with the complacency of one who expected to be even more disgustingly wealthy than he already was within forty-eight hours. Owning both Saratoga Sun and Jefferson Jet, his bets seemed to be well and truly hedged.

Maddy hoped that Diana wouldn’t want to discuss the incident at the stream, or anything else. She sincerely hoped that Diana wouldn’t speak to her at all tonight. If Diana was Milton St John’s scarlet woman, then Maddy must be at least a carmine apprentice.