Maddy picked a cowpat of dried grass from the mower’s gnarled blades and luxuriated in the heady scent. ‘We exchanged civilised social chit-chat as people do at parties. I still don’t know why he’s come back to Milton St John. I didn’t ask. You and Fran would have been proud of my disdain and lack of interest.’

‘Real?’ Suzy started gouging at her purple nail varnish.

‘Yes, real. I am well and truly over Peter Knightley. I wouldn’t care if I never saw him again.’

‘Oh good.’ Suzy removed the towel from her hair so that her head was surrounded by a halo of apricot spikes. ‘Does that mean you’ll be available for the dishy Drew, then?’

‘No.’ Maddy felt the blush creep into her cheeks. When on earth was she going to be too old for blushing? ‘He’s married. And I don’t need a man.’

‘Everybody needs a man.’ Suzy rose gracefully to her feet and headed towards the back door. ‘You can’t just shut yourself away from them all because Pete the Perv treated you like cack. You’re bloody pretty, Mad. A bit fat here and there and disgustingly old of course, but people still fancy you.’

‘They do? Who exactly?’ Maddy asked, but Suzy was out of earshot. She resumed her grass-cutting with a wry grin. Maybe it was better not to know.

Chapter Four

Caroline Fitzgerald arrived three weeks later, after both the horses and the furniture had been installed in Peapods. These had been observed, reported on, and approved by most of the villagers, who were now anxiously awaiting the appearance of Drew Fitzgerald’s wife.

As it was Friday, Maddy was frowning over her paperwork, calculating the weekly pay for Elaine, Brenda, and Kat, half-listening to the Breakfast Show. The sun sliced through the window, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the golden shaft. Maddy played with her pen. Dust, like everything else, looked so pretty in the sunshine. It would be a pity to disturb it. She took no notice of the constant cars streaming in and out of the drive opposite. Drew had had builders working in Peapods for ten days now, so the dark blue Mercedes was of no special interest.

‘Any chance of a coffee for old times’ sake?’ The smooth voice stopped her dead. She dropped her pen and half-rose to her feet. The voice had reached the kitchen. ‘Maddy? Where are you?’

She hadn’t seen Peter since Diana’s party. Village gossip said he’d made an offer for Milton St John Manor. Village gossip also said that he was planning to turn it into a fast food restaurant, a laser drome, an ice rink, and a bowling alley. Maddy guessed this all depended on the vividness of your imagination and whether you thought Peter Knightley was the best thing since Richard Branson or a darned nuisance.

‘I should have phoned.’ He smiled, assuming she would forgive the unheralded arrival. ‘But I’ve been so busy. I had a few moments spare in my schedule this morning and I happened to be passing …’