They turned the corner and crossed the cattle grid at the end of Kimberley’s drive. There were cars everywhere, and a thin plume of smoke from the rear of the house indicated the barbecue was well under way. Barty Small, his trilby replaced by a Panama, was ladling out drinks from a trestle table.

‘There’s fruit punch with gin, fruit punch with vodka, fruit punch with brandy, fruit punch with rum,’ he recited, indicating four massive cauldrons awash with fruit salad.

They opted for the rum, and Barty dipped three Ovaltiney mugs into the cauldron with a grubby hand.

‘Fran’s here, Richard isn’t.’ He winked at Maddy. ‘There’ll be fireworks later when he shows up, you mark my words. I’ve saved him some special gin under the counter. Get him nicely fired up. Then he can have his say with Diana and D’Arcy, can’t he?’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘Look,’ Barty leaned forward across the cauldrons, ‘I’ve always maintained that the owner has the final say. It’s always been the case. But Fran works for me and it breaks my heart to see her so upset. I don’t reckon there’s much to choose between Richard and Luke, and playing it straight hasn’t helped so far, has it? All on your own tonight, then?’

‘Not exactly.’ Maddy gave a little laugh. ‘I’m with lots of people in general and no one in particular.’

Luckily, the queue behind was growing restive, and Barty had to dive back to his cauldrons. He fingered the Panama. ‘I might catch up with you later.’

Maddy was still smiling as she walked quickly away. Were things really so bad that she’d end the evening fighting off Barty Small? He’d been married three times already. His wives had all sued for divorce on the grounds of exhaustion.

The Pughs had disappeared into the melee, and Maddy hung back, breathing in the scents of the lilac trees and the shadowy chestnuts with their waxy candles spiked against the flax flower sky. Kimberley’s garden was like a country cottage explosion, with tumbles of old-fashioned flowers, tunnels of towering bean sticks, and honeysuckle-covered trellises surrounding the lawn. Kimberley refused to employ a gardener, and apart from the horses, it was her only passion. Maddy loved it.

She wanted Drew with her to share the pleasure. There was something so sexy about the smell of the charcoaling food mingling with the rich soapy perfume of the garden.

Kimberley, munching a hot-dog, strode across the lawn towards her. Maddy smiled. ‘You look nice. What a lovely outfit.’

Kimberley had made an effort. She was a generous and popular hostess but very rarely dressed up, and was barely recognisable now in a pair of navy trousers and a long, white overshirt, her shoulder-length bobbed hair caught back in a navy and white scarf.