“Come on, let’s get out of this infernal weather,” she said, turning up her flight jacket collar as another clap of thunder sounded overhead and the wind whipped across the aerodrome. As we fell into place behind her, Belinda tapped Paolo on the shoulder. “Are you planning to introduce us or are you keeping her all to yourself?” she asked.

Paolo laughed, a trifle nervously. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced you. Ronny, these are my friends Belinda Warburton-Stoke and Georgiana Rannoch. Girls, this is Ronny Padgett.”

I saw Ronny’s eyes widen. “Rannoch? Any relation to the dukes of?”

“The last one was my father; the current one is my brother,” I said.

“Good God. Then we’re almost neighbors. My family place is not too far from you on the Dee.”

“Really? It’s amazing we’ve never run into each other before.”

“I don’t go up there often,” she said. “Too damned quiet for my taste. And I’m a good bit older than you. When I was shipped off to boarding school you were probably still crawling around in nappies. And I left home for good when I was sixteen. Didn’t want any part of being presented and all that bosh. Since then I’ve never stayed in one place for long. Born with wanderlust, I suppose. Are you up there much yourself?”

“I have to go up to Scotland in a couple of weeks,” I said. “But not to Castle Rannoch if I can avoid it. It’s not the liveliest of places these days. I’m due at Balmoral for the grouse shoot.”

“Murdering all the poor defenseless little birds,” Ronny said. “Barbaric when you come to think of it. But by God it’s fun, isn’t it? I suppose it must be in the blood, don’t you think?”

“I think it must,” I said. “I adore hunting but I always feel jolly sorry for the poor fox when it’s torn to pieces. I’m not a particularly good shot, so I don’t feel sorry for the grouse in the same way. And they are awfully silly birds.”

Ronny laughed again. “They certainly are. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sometime. If I’m there you can come and shoot with me on the estate.”

Belinda, I noticed, was pouting. She was used to being the center of attention.

She tugged at Paolo’s arm. “After what Ronny has just achieved, the very least you can do is to fete her with champagne,” she said.

“Belinda, I sometimes think you believe that all I am good for is keeping you supplied with champagne and cav iar,” Paolo said.

“Not at all, you do have other uses.” She gave him her cat-with-the-cream smile.

I saw the lingering glance that passed between them. Then he turned to Ronny. “I’m instructed to buy you champagne if they stock a decent bottle at the bar here. Coming?”