‘Look,’ he said. ‘Wideacre is like a little bowl with the Downs on the south and west, and the Common to the north.’ His hand went a great sweep around the map and I saw the land was coloured green and brown.

‘Here we run a mixed farm,’ he said. ‘Much more fruit and vegetables than our neighbours because we have a skilled workforce who see the benefits of good profits. But we also farm sheep for their wool and meat, and a dairy herd.’

I nodded.

‘We grow our own fodder for the animals,’ he said. ‘As well as a lot of wheat which we sell locally and in the London market for bread.’

I nodded again.

‘It’s a most lovely country,’ he said, warmth creeping into his voice. ‘Here is Wideacre Hall, set in the middle of the parkland, d’you see Sarah? At the back of it is the Common: that’s free of fields for people to use for their own animals’ grazing, and for walking and gathering firewood or brushwood, taking small game and putting out hives. It’s bracken and gorse, some small pine trees, and in the valleys some beeches and oak trees and little streams.

‘Over here,’ he brushed the area south of the house, at the front, ‘here is the ornamental garden you see from the front window, a little rose garden, and a paddock. Then there is the woodland which stretches along the drive and right up to the road. There are some fields new planted here; but we’ve mostly kept it as a wood. This is your property, your mother wanted the parkland kept with the Hall. She played here when she was a little girl, by the side of the Fenny which runs through these woods, in the little pools and streams. She learned to tickle for trout, and she learned to swim with one of the village girls. In spring the woods are full of wild daffodils and bluebells. In summer there are little glades which are thick with purple and white violets.

‘Your boundary to the west is the Havering land.’ He pointed to a dotted line drawn on the map. ‘This map doesn’t show Havering Hall. It’s empty most of the year, the Havering family lives in London. They are distant kin to you,’ he said, ‘but they are only here in summer.’

‘Is this the village?’ I asked, pointing to a mess of little squares on the map on the right-hand side.

‘Yes,’ James Fortescue said. ‘If you come out of Wideacre Hall drive and turn right you go along the lane to the Chichester road, see? But if you go out of the drive and turn left you go down to Acre village.