He heaved the picnic basket between us and laid aside the napery and the silverware, the fine china with the crest on it and chose instead to eat with his fingers. I hesitated for a moment, unable to believe that Lord Peregrine himself could eat like a gypsy brat; and then weak with relief and hunger I tore a drumstick off the perfectly roasted chicken and settled down into the leaves to eat the first meal I had enjoyed since coming to Wideacre.

We were like children, Lord Peregrine and I in the equal uncritical sunshine. We were like children of the childhood I should have had. I was only sixteen, I guessed he was little older; and we sat in the warmth of the early day and ate greedily and messily until there was nothing left but chicken bones sucked clean and a handful of crumbs. I leaned over the stream and drank deeply of the sweet chalk-clean water until the bones of my face ached with its icy touch. I dipped my face right in and washed in the coldness. I came up with dripping bedraggled hair and Lord Peregrine carelessly tossed a fine linen napkin to me and I wiped myself dry.

‘There should have been wine,’ he said, lying on his back and looking up at the sky. In the tops of the trees a cuckoo was calling and wood-pigeons cooed. ‘Or champagne would have been nice.’ He put both hands behind his head, his profile a line as clear as a statue against the darkness of the wood behind him, the wind lifting his fair curls off his forehead. ‘They keep trying to stop me drinking,’ he said sulkily. ‘They even suggested I had come home inebriated!’

‘You were drunk as a lord,’ I said plainly, watching the droop of his lazy eyelids.

They flashed open at that but the blue eyes were merry. ‘I say, that’s rather good!’ he said with a chuckle. ‘And yes, I was! But what else is a chap supposed to do? Anyone would think it was a household of Methodists the way my sisters go on. Mama is all right most of the time. But even she scolds a bit. And now I’m down from Oxford it’ll be even worse.’

‘Down?’ I asked, not understanding him.

‘Thrown out,’ he explained. He grinned at me, his white teeth even and straight. ‘I never did any work – not that they cared for that – but I kicked up a few larks as well. I think it was the hole in the dean’s punt which finished me off!’

I stretched out beside him, lying on my belly so I could watch his quick, fluid face.