So now we were puttering merrily along. City gave way to leafy suburbs as we joined the Portsmouth Road. Then suburbs turned into true countryside with spreading chestnuts and oak trees in fields, horses looking over gates. I felt the weight of the last days gradually lifting. Tristram chatted merrily. We stopped at a bakery to buy some sausage rolls and Chelsea buns and then we puttered up one flank of the Hog’s Back and pulled off at the top to admire the view. As we sat on the verge beside the road eating our impromptu picnic, I gave a contented sigh.

“It’s good to be out in the country again, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. Do you dislike the city as much as I do?”

“I don’t dislike it, in fact it could be rather fun if one had money, but I’m a country girl at heart. I need to ride and walk along the loch and feel the wind blowing in my face.”

He stared at me for a long while before saying, “You know, Georgie, I wasn’t joking the other day. You could always marry me. I know I don’t have much now, but one day I’ll be very comfortably off. Perhaps we could live at Eynsleigh and get those fountains going again.”

“You really are sweet, Tris.” I patted his hand. “But I already told you that I plan to marry for love. You feel more like a brother to me. And I won’t ever marry for convenience.”

“All right. I understand. Still, a fellow can always hope to make you change your mind, can’t he?”

I got to my feet. “It’s pretty here, isn’t it? I wonder if there is a view through the trees.”

I started walking down a little path. It was amazing how quickly the car and the road vanished and I was in the middle of the wood. Birds called from the trees, a squirrel raced in front of my feet. I’d been an outdoor girl all my life. Suddenly I sensed that the wood had gone quiet. It felt tense, as if everything were listening and watching. I looked around me uneasily. I was only a few yards from the car. I couldn’t be in any danger, could I? Then I remembered a crowded tube platform. I turned and hurried back to the road.

“Ah, here she is,” said a hearty voice. “We wondered where you’d got to.”

Another car had parked beside us, this one driven by Whiffy Featherstonehaugh and containing Marisa Pauncefoot-Young and Belinda, who were now spreading out their own picnic mat on the grass.

“Where are you heading for?” I asked and was greeted with merry laughter.

“Same as you, silly. We’re the rest of the house party.”

“Come and sit down.” Whiffy patted the mat beside him. “Marisa’s mum has rustled up some spiffing food from Fortnum’s.”