A minute later, Granville trots up, looking stricken. ‘The ambulance is on its way – it’s coming to Court Place – could you make it to the Land Rover, Colin?’ he asks. Then his face sort of collapses, crumples. ‘I can’t tell you. How sorry. I am,’ he says, and I see that his eyes are brimming with tears. ‘On the last drive, too.’ He stares at the ground. I see his lips move. He’s saying something to himself, and shaking his head.

I didn’t know where to look, to be honest. I hate it when men cry. Even the sort of man who is in touch with his feminine side, as I now know Granville most definitely is.

Andrew pulls up in a Land Rover, his army training very much in evidence. He jerks on the handbrake, leaves the diesel engine belching, leaps out, steers Colin into the front, a manoeuvre that causes the wounded beater to cry out in pain. Andrew then marches up to Max. ‘You,’ he says to Max, in a blood-chilling deep voice, ‘should take some shooting lessons before picking up a gun again.’ He delivers this as if it were possibly the worst insult that one man could pay another, looking Max straight in the eye.

At this, a sort of strangled gurgle of rage emerges from Max’s throat. He looks, for a second, as if he’s going to hit Andrew. ‘It was only a peppering, Andrew,’ he whines. ‘I had my defenders on, didn’t hear the bloody whistle. It really wasn’t my fault,’ he goes on, as everyone looks at the ground and not at him. Then he draws himself up to his full height of 5 foot 5 inches, puffs out his chest and stomps off.

‘Bleats, shoots and leaves,’ says Andrew, looking satisfied with this result. He doffs his cap to me, Rose, Granville and Serena, and opens the door of the green Land Rover.

‘I’m going with him,’ Serena says, her jaw jutting. Rose and I look at each other.

For a moment a different anxiety flickers across Granville’s face, and I wonder if he is going to object, and on what possible grounds he can.

Serena seemingly dives headfirst into the open back, her pupils dilated, a high colour flaring in her porcelain cheeks, her blonde hair flying. Then the jeep, driven by Andrew, carrying Colin Watts and Serena and a few dead pheasant, guns across the meadow, following skidmarks of previous traffic, to the farm track that leads to the back of Court Place.

‘Do you think he’s going to eat the cake?’ Rose asks me.