Maddy joined groups that splintered off into other groups, and talked about The Derby and the new Chinese in Newbury and The Oaks and the price of the bungalows in the next village and The Guineas and about Richard being jocked off.

‘Not really Diana’s fault, eh?’ Barty Small piped through the general murmur of sympathy. ‘If the owner wanted the golden boy from Newmarket to ride, then what could Diana do?’

‘But Richard is her stable jockey. It’s his first season with her. He’d been banking on it.’ Maddy was fiercely loyal, even though she had promised Fran she wouldn’t get involved. ‘And Fran is your secretary. And –’

‘And the owners pay everyone’s wages. The owners call the shots, Maddy, as your Suzy will tell you. Of course,’ he moved closer so that his nose was almost lodged on her bosom, ‘you wouldn’t really be affected, would you? After all, racing isn’t in your blood.’

Maddy resisted the urge to flick his nose away from her chest. Barty Small had a weasel’s face and piggy eyes and straw-coloured hair with a permanent indent around the crown where his trilby lived. ‘Maybe not, but it’s in my heart,’ she said doggedly. ‘And it was a slur on Richard’s ability.’

‘Not at all.’ Barty was bristling. ‘It all comes down to money in the end.’

‘What about friendship and loyalty? What about repaying good service? What about –’

‘All dead and gone.’ Kimberley Weston smoothed down her well-boned frock. ‘Sadly, Barty’s right, Maddy. Racing is an industry and is as fragile as any other in these mercenary days.’

Maddy was irritated. Not just because she couldn’t give full vent to her feelings for fear of insulting her hostess, not just because Peter wasn’t coming and she’d rehearsed being cool and uninterested until her teeth ached, but also because the basque was cutting into her, and she was starving.

‘Oh, scrummy!’ Kimberley’s brown eyes zoomed towards the doorway. ‘This must be who we’ve been waiting for. Diana said she had a surprise up her sleeve.’

Maddy froze. Her hands were sweating. She wished she’d rubbed Body Mist into her palms. She wished her third glass of mineral water contained a pint of gin. She wished she was a stone lighter.

She arranged her face in careful anticipation. She would turn and smile, a pleasant ‘Oh, lovely to see you again. How long has it been?’ smile, and her legs wouldn’t wobble at the golden hair and the golden skin and the big blue eyes that looked like a hurt child’s but masked a business brain as sharp as a laser. She turned round.

‘Maddy, Kimberley, Barty. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to meet –’ There was a crash and an oath from the far side of the room, followed by Gareth’s braying giggle. Diana frowned. ‘Excuse me a moment …’ and she left her charge at their mercy.

Maddy felt as though she’d walked into the wrong film at the cinema. All geared up for the heart-stopping delights of Peter Knightley, the man standing beside her was something of a disappointment. Not, of course, that he wasn’t attractive. He just wasn’t Peter.