‘How was Richard?’ she asked, as the bus swayed away along the main street. ‘Nervous?’

‘Not when he left.’ Fran was twisting round in her seat, and waving to the contingent from the Cat and Fiddle who were taking up the rear quarter of the deck and already rustling cigarette papers. ‘This morning he’ll probably be throwing up, poor love. Still, he’s not riding in the Woodcote which should give me a chance to cuddle him before the telly gets hold of him.’

‘And Chloe and Tom? Have they gone to Epsom with Richard?’

Fran nodded. ‘His parents are keeping them for the weekend at Esher and bringing them to the course this morning. The kids couldn’t be more excited if Richard was their real father. He’s done a wonderful job. I just wish we could have a baby of our own. Still, after today, who knows.’

Not wanting to even think about babies, Maddy looked down on the village. Milton St John was like the Marie Celeste. The few who hadn’t already decamped for Epsom were hard at work so that they could watch the meeting on television. It was a maze of winding sandy roads and pale grey cottages, with the yards and their red-bricked creeper-covered houses dotted amongst the frothy green trees. Deserted and drowsy beneath the strong morning sun, it was simply the most beautiful place in the world.

‘Hat time, then.’ Fran jammed her cartwheel on to her head, holding it in position. ‘Come on, Maddy. Let’s see it.’

Maddy carefully removed the green hat from its bag and lowered it onto her curls.

Fran looked at her in admiration. ‘You’ll be the talk of the Queen’s Stand, and Drew won’t know what’s hit him.’

‘Caroline’s here. I don’t think he’ll be able to comment.’

‘Oh, he will.’ Fran patted Maddy’s arm with her free hand. ‘Believe me, he will.’

A shout and a lot of foot stamping from the lower deck indicated that Bronwyn and Bernie had started their circulation with the huge egg and bacon baps and cardboard beakers of Bucks Fizz. Maddy and Fran smiled at each other in excitement. They were on their way.

The bus pulled into position on the downs side of the racecourse just before the winning post. It was still early, but the rolling hills were covered in marquees and market stalls and travellers’ caravans. In front of them, the Grandstand and the Queen’s Stand, looking like an ocean-going liner, towered into the Mediterranean-blue sky, and the bright green racecourse encircled them like an undulating emerald ribbon. The fairground screamed its raucous welcome, fortune tellers beckoned, and the crowds spilled everywhere. Maddy swallowed. Somewhere, in all that mass of humanity, was Drew.