The village hall was flatteringly full. A wide cross-section of Milton St John had squeezed itself into the stacking chairs, and were sitting, damply steaming, awaiting the main event. Maddy, beside Drew in the third row, gazed around in open astonishment. She hadn’t expected anything like this turn out, especially as all stables were gearing up for The Derby. It was a testament to Bronwyn’s organising powers that she had managed to prise so many away from their work.

Kimberley Weston and Barty Small were in the front row, with several other trainers. Diana and Gareth James-Jordan were not in evidence. Neither were Peter or Stacey.

‘They probably haven’t had this sort of turn out since the last public hanging,’ Drew whispered. ‘And some of them look as though they’ve been around ever since.’

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?’