As they set off down the mile-long drive of Glendrochatt, heading again for the A9, Marnie was glad to be doing the driving. Car journeys can provide wonderful opportunities for intimate conversation without the threat of face-to-face confrontation, and being behind the wheel gave her an extra feeling of confidence and being in command. They were both hungry to find out more about each other’s lives. Marnie, in love as, she now realised, she had never been in love before, wanted to know all about Christopher’s home and his family, his loves and hates and interests.

He told her about the old Tudor house in Warwickshire where he’d been brought up and where he was taking her on Sunday – a house of mellow stone and latticed windows, of ornate, twisted chimney stacks like sticks of barley-sugar and huge fireplaces; a house in which linen-fold panelling and creaky old floorboards made strange noises in the night. He told her about his mother’s sunken garden where plants spilled over stone paths and roses sprawled and tumbled – Paul’s Himalayan Musk or the wonderfully named Rambling Rector swarming up old apple trees and cascading down in waterfalls of pink and white; where lavender edged the flowerbeds and scented the air, and butterflies gorged themselves on buddleias; where a silver-leaved Cytisus battandieri spilled down a wall, its yellow flowers smelling of fresh pineapples, and an ancient globe sundial stood in the centre of the garden. He talked about the three sisters he clearly adored – the eldest, Penny, with the kind heart and congenital lack of tact, who knew what was best for everyone and was constantly bewildered when none of the family took up her suggestions. ‘God, how she used to try to boss the rest of us around when we were children!’ said Christopher. ‘Not for nothing did we call her the Headmistress. Now she’s married to a nice, dull man who likes being organised. She runs every possible local committee and is in her element as a controlling parent. But she’s a real supporter in times of trouble – she used to trek down to visit me every month in prison, and that’s the sort of thing that really counts.’ The two younger sisters, who came after Christopher in the family line-up, were both married too, but he obviously had a special love for Jess, the sister next in age, who had been his boon companion when they were growing up. Kitty, the brilliant youngest sister, had her own travel business, wrote articles on far-flung places for glossy magazines and was a highly successful career woman, but Jess, he said, was just a lovely person with a marvellous sense of humour who was fun to be with. Marnie instantly felt a sharp, unworthy pang of jealousy.

‘I think you two would really get on,’ said Christopher – that rash suggestion that can be enough to put a stumbling block in the path of any possible relationship-by-marriage.