‘Er, yes, thanks.’ At least she could take her Anadin with a cup of tea. She sat at the table which was even more cluttered than her own. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Never better. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing, really …’

‘C’mon, Maddy.’ Kimberley clashed around with a giant teapot and mugs. ‘You’re the worst fibber in this village. What’s up?’

‘Nothing … oh, I just heard, on the quiet, that you’ve …’

‘Bloody hell!’ Kimberley sloshed boiling water into the teapot. ‘A girl can’t have any secrets, can she? Who told you?’

‘Suzy said it was all round John Hastings’ yard this morning.’

‘Little bastards!’ Kimberley said happily. ‘How the devil do they find these things out? Well, aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

‘It doesn’t seem the right sort of thing to congratulate you about, really.’

‘Christ, Maddy!’ Kimberley pushed a mug of luminous orange tea through the debris on the table. ‘We’re in much the same boat. I know Barty’s not the catch of the century, and he’s not gorgeous like your Drew, but after all –’

‘What?’ Maddy choked on the Anadin. ‘I think we’ve got crossed wires. I’d heard you were selling up because of the virus.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Kimberley heaped sugar into her mug and rattled the spoon. ‘But also because I’m marrying Barty. We’re going in together. Seemed eminently sensible to me. The worst of the bug is over, most of my owners will hang on, but Barty’s place is so much bigger than this. We thought we’d run a combined yard – and he asked me to marry him.’

‘Oh, Kimberley. That’s wonderful.’

‘Glad you’re pleased.’ Kimberley blew noisily across the top of the mug. ‘I’ll take all my staff with me of course. I’ll need ’em for my horses. No one will be out of a job. Is that what Suzy was worried about? Her pals being on the scrap heap?’

‘Apparently, no. She was worried about you.’

‘She’s a good kid.’ Kimberley’s voice was gruff. ‘It runs in the family. At least you haven’t said I’m stupid for becoming the fourth Mrs Small.’

‘Why should I?’ Maddy squeezed Kimberley’s large hands. ‘You didn’t lecture me over Drew. I’m delighted for you, Kimberley. Really. When’s the wedding?’

‘September. Wantage Registry because of Barty being divorced. Then a bloody big reception for the entire village back at Barty’s place. Didn’t seem any point in hanging about too long.’

‘That’s lovely. I really am pleased. But won’t you miss your garden?’

‘Yes. That was the only thing that delayed me. Still,’ she brightened, ‘you know what Barty’s garden is like – very municipal parks. It’ll be a challenge to make it all cottagey, won’t it?’

‘And have you got a buyer?’