Caroline pleated the skirt of her dress, not meeting Maddy’s eyes. ‘I liked Peter. Right from the start I recognised a kindred spirit. To cut a very long story short, Peter Knightley is now my partner.’

‘Holy hell!’ Maddy gawped at her. ‘Not, er …?’

‘Oh, absolutely not. No, Peter is quite free to tomcat around wherever he likes. That’ll suit me nicely. But he looks superb, has a wonderful business brain, is totally ruthless, talks like an angel, isn’t remotely interested in bloody horse racing, and my mother adores him.’

‘Your mother has met him?’

‘Yes. He’s been over to Jersey a couple of times to sort things out with my solicitors. He’s already introduced some brilliant schemes for marketing and new production. He’s a real acquisition for the company.’

‘Does Drew know?’

‘I told him tonight. He reacted in much the same way as you. But you see, the vineyard will always be the most important thing in my life. Peter will take my father’s place admirably.’

Maddy glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. Caroline stood up and pressed her cool cheek fleetingly against Maddy’s flushed one. ‘I’ll have to fly now or I’ll be locked out. I’m so glad we’ve had this talk. I want us to stay friends, Maddy, however hard you may find it to believe. I’ve always liked you. Good luck.’

‘You too …’ Maddy heard herself saying, kicking the rug away and closing the door.

If the fat teapot, now covered in tannin dribbles and the two lipstick-rimmed cups hadn’t still been sitting on the kitchen table, Maddy would have thought she’d dreamed the whole bizarre episode. She looked out across the dark garden. Milton St John was still revelling wildly. Caroline was driving back through the night, having tidied up the ends of her marriage in her usual cool and efficient way. And Peter bloody Knightley … Maddy gave a wry smile. That part of it was utterly believable.

She turned back into the kitchen. Were she and Drew the only people not happy tonight? No, of course not. He was fine. He had Angie.

She sank down at the table and cradled her head in her hands. She’d lived through pain and disillusion before. There was no reason why she shouldn’t do it again … But there was, she thought wearily. A tall, lean, dark reason who lived across the road. Helplessly, she closed her eyes.

The storm woke her. A hail of bullets woodpeckered against the window. The wind rattled the letter box. And somewhere, rolling lazily across the downs, a low-throated groan of thunder threatened.