‘We’d have to pay more,’ he said, ‘and I want outdoor scenes. You can have people – today’s people, people from the past, but use the garden! I want trees, flowers. In detail – remember “oak” not “tree”. Off you go.’

Unrestricted by Dermot’s orders, Laura did turn to the house. It was large and square and seemed to her to be Georgian. A huge magnolia climbed up one side and lace-cap hydrangeas the other. There was an avenue of lime trees leading to the front door, which, when you turned away from the house, framed the church spire of the nearest village. At the front, parkland stretched to the stone wall in the far distance. A green painted arrow indicated the formal gardens were round the back of the property. They were blessed with a beautiful day and everywhere looked at its best. It was impressive, but Laura found herself thinking that privately she preferred Somerby’s more modest and wilder grandeur.

She stood and gazed for a few moments before turning to look for Dermot.

He’d vanished! How could he have disappeared so quickly? He must have gone with the first group of students who were all chattering away and not, Laura felt, taking in their surroundings.

She wandered slowly along the path, following the signs to the gardens. She’d come across Dermot shortly, she was sure.

The trouble was, there were paths to several different gardens: a cottage garden, a millennium garden, a stumpery – whatever that was – a walled garden and a rose garden as well as a vegetable garden and glasshouses. She suspected there was a more formal garden beyond all that – she could see tall clipped yews in the distance, and a copper beech covered with tiny roses.

She blinked in the sunshine, considering her options. His curiosity might lead him to the stumpery, or he might like glasshouses – she did herself – or would he be drawn to the yews and roses like stars against almost purple foliage? She couldn’t guess, so, deciding simply to enjoy her surroundings, she set off towards the millennium garden. She was just about to reach it when she saw a group of students, including Dermot, right at the end of a wide mown path.

Feeling she couldn’t really gallop down it without looking pathetically needy, like the friendless child on a school outing, she thought she’d try and find a way to meet them without them seeing her approach.

A convenient hedge described in green paint as ‘tapestry’ and consisting of several varieties of tree and quite a few climbing plants, including dog roses and honeysuckle, led, Laura assumed, to the more formal garden where the group was. Hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone and feel obliged to explain why, she hared along it arriving at the other end to see the backs of the group heading along towards a woodland area.