‘Naughty boy.’ Diana tapped his arm playfully. Maddy suddenly wondered whether Diana and Peter had had a walk-out. And if so, when. ‘Maddy is one of my dearest friends, as you well know. Shadows is a super idea – and very highly thought of in the village. She’s come on in leaps and bounds since you left Milton St John, you know.’

‘So it would seem. She looks gorgeous and she’s running her own company … What’s the uniform, Maddy? Curlers and wrinkled stockings?’

Stacey giggled. Peter had loosened his grip and Diana had moved between them. There was definitely something there, Maddy thought, suddenly wanting to be as far away from this party as possible.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said to Diana, ‘I really think I should be making tracks. I’ve got an early start in the morning.’ She turned to Drew. ‘It has been very nice to meet you – and again, my apologies for the misunderstanding earlier.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Drew was party polite again. ‘And when Caroline arrives, I’ll ask her to contact you about Shadows, shall I?’

‘Please do.’ Maddy took Drew’s extended hand. A familiar tingle started to spread through her veins and she wrenched her hand away.

‘Do you need a lift home, Maddy?’ Peter hadn’t missed the rise of colour in her throat. ‘Stacey and I won’t be long leaving.’

‘No thank you.’ She didn’t dare look at Drew who was now talking to Barty Small. ‘I’ve got the car. Diana, thank you so much – it was delightful,’ and with a return match of cheek-clashing she made her exit to the usual goodbye sonata.

This was something of a record, she thought as she circled the jungle of guests still prowling the Small Room, to discover that she could madly fancy two men at the same party – neither of whom was remotely interested in her.

She was still grinning when she reached the car.

Chapter Three

Milton St John looked glorious at this hour, Maddy thought as she cycled dreamily along the high-banked lane. The acid-green lace of Goddards Spinney spread uphill from the stream which gurgled beside the main road, and Maynards Orchard with its froth of pink and white blossom looked like a peeping petticoat against the bare brown legs of the peaty downland. There was a sort of misty promise about the early morning, as though solutions to problems would rise like the sun through the gauziness.

Horses were hard at work already. The gallops were full of swift-moving pin-prick creatures streaming along the brow of the hill; first lots making their way back to their stables with steaming nostrils; second lots clip-clopping sedately out of yards. April was a transitional month in the village; the jumping stables were celebrating or otherwise over Cheltenham and. Aintree, while the flat racers were bursting with anticipation about The Guineas, The Derby and Ascot.

Maddy waved greetings as she cycled past St Saviours and the Village Stores. Mrs Pugh was putting out litter bins and ignored her. Maddy, en route to her first cleaning appointment of the day, knew she had to apologise to Bronwyn as soon as possible. The Cat and Fiddle, standing in an oasis of empty crisp packets, was tightly shut. So was the betting shop.