‘Not a hope in hell,’ Maddy spat under her breath. ‘And if you’re intending to dump Stacey I should do it now – before the preparations for the wedding get under way – otherwise you’ll have Jeff Henley and his twelve-bore to contend with.’

‘I can’t dump Stacey. I need her father’s money.’ His eyes were bleak.

‘God, Peter. You can’t do that. Not even you can do that.’

‘No, I suppose I can’t.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re too nice, Maddy. You always were. Stacey and I are right for each other. I suppose we’ll probably make a go of things. Anyway, if you and Charlie are getting together I hope you’ll be happy. You deserve it.’

She was about to say that there was nothing at all between her and Charlie Somerset, and then stopped. It might prove a useful smokescreen.

Charlie and Caroline had selected Gershwin. The music flooded the headily scented garden. Everyone was dancing on the crew-cut lawn. Drew took her hand and led her towards a secluded corner.

They danced as they had in her cramped sitting room, swaying together, not moving their feet.

‘This is probably why we’d be wrong for each other.’ She laid her cheek against his shoulder. ‘This is all so elegant and right. This is what you’re used to.’

He lifted her head up. ‘This is what bores me rigid. I hate all this pretence and social snobbery. Having nine sets of cutlery and eighteen glasses and polite conversation at dinner. I want to be swigging whisky out of beakers and eating Mars bars and not being nagged if my boots are dirty or my jeans are torn. And I don’t want this bloody music any more.’

‘But Gershwin is fabulous.’

‘For you and me – alone.’ He looked at her. ‘When we’re cuddled up with the aforementioned whisky and Mars bars on your sofa. Charlie was right. This is supposed to be a celebration, and that’s what it’s bloody going to be!’

And it was. With the help of Eddie Cochran, Bill Haley, and Thin Lizzy, aided and abetted by Charlie dispensing the best of Caroline’s wine with equal measures of vodka, the previously decorous dinner party degenerated into a ballroom blitz. The Pughs and Maddy’s parents proved ace jitterbuggers. Caroline, holding herself stiffly as always, danced with Peter while Stacey and Charlie skittered across the terrace. Kit and Rosa, as ever, were so entwined that it would have taken a crowbar to separate them.

‘That’s how I’d like to be,’ Maddy sighed enviously, when she and Drew paused in the middle of an energetic jive for a further swig of Charlie’s cocktail. ‘And that’s how we won’t be. Ever.’

‘Yes, we will.’ Drew touched her cheek in the darkness. ‘One day, we’ll – God almighty!’