Maddy giggled. ‘This probably affects the older villagers more than anyone. After all, they’ve got no use for a golf course, and they probably did their courting in the spinney.’

‘They possibly all started their families there too, from what I’ve seen of the unleashed libido in the village.’

Maddy went hot. She didn’t want to think along those lines. Not with Drew’s denim-clad leg rubbing against hers. It was the seating arrangement conspiracy again.

‘I thought I’d missed it.’ Fran pushed along the row towards them, muttering apologies for trodden-on toes. ‘Has it started yet?’

‘No. Bronwyn’s obviously waiting ’til the last minute.’ Maddy was delighted to see Fran. ‘I didn’t think you’d come, what with Richard riding for Diana.’

‘Richard won’t come because of that.’ Fran was removing her coat. ‘But he feels very strongly about it. I said I’d represent us both. Anyway, one of us had to stay with Chloe and Tom. Barty and I have talked about nothing else but this all day. You wouldn’t think it was The Derby in – oh, hello, Drew.’

Drew beamed back along the row. Fran leaned towards Maddy. ‘I thought you’d decided to steer clear? You told me at Newmarket you were just going to be friends. I thought you’d avoided him since the party?’

‘I had,’ Maddy whispered back. ‘We’ve sorted out ground rules. We’re just friends.’

‘And I’m Joan Collins’ granny,’ Fran snorted, ‘You’re both grinning like Cheshire cats. Remember what I said. He’s married, and you’ll get hurt.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Probably. Definitely. Stone-cold certainty.’ Fran peered at Drew who was studying the empty stage with apparent innocence. ‘You lucky cow.’

‘He’s had a really sad life,’ Maddy hissed. ‘I’m not going to add to it.’

Fran laughed. ‘So Drew Fitzgerald is your charity of the month, is he?’

‘Of a lifetime,’ Maddy muttered, wriggling back into her seat.

Drew leaned closer. ‘Tell Fran she’s got a very loud whisper.’

‘Oh, God.’ Maddy felt the blush spiral up her throat. ‘You heard?’

Drew’s grin was ear to ear. ‘You lucky cow ...’

Fortunately the Pughs chose that moment to make their entrance. They shuffled on to the stage, swollen with self-importance, and took up positions behind the microphone as though they’d been doing it all their lives. Bronwyn, in a brown corduroy pinafore dress, carried a clipboard; Bernie, in his Best Suit, was armed with buff folders. And they weren’t alone.

‘Dear God!’ Fran snuffled into her hand. ‘They’ve brought entertainment.’

Drew was laughing. Quietly. Maddy stared straight ahead, not daring to meet his eyes. Milton St John openly gawped at the rag-tag trail of colourfully dressed individuals who accompanied Bronwyn and Bernie on the stage.

‘Who the hell are they?’ Drew hissed. ‘They look like Adge Cutler and the Wurzels.’

‘I really wouldn’t know about that.’ Maddy was biting her lips. ‘But then I’m so much younger than you.’

Drew’s hand snaked across the seat and gripped her wrist. Their fingers entwined and Maddy gave an ecstatic shudder.