He set off, tugging her hand and she dragging behind until her legs found their rhythm, dodging hummocks of grass, trying to stay upright and not slip. She was frightened but exhilarated, almost flying in a way she had not done for years, the downhill running almost effortless until they were going so fast she was veering out of control.

‘Stop!’ she gasped, laughing so much she felt she might become hysterical, as if something was trying to break its way out of her chest. ‘Stop – we’ll fall! I can’t breathe!’

‘You won’t fall – I shan’t let you!’ he shouted, grasping her hand more firmly as she panted and gasped, and at last, as the hill bottomed out, they slowed to a walk, their breath gusting white on the air. She felt uplifted, in a heavenly state of happiness and excitement.

‘Oh,’ Charles cried, laughing, ‘it’s a marvellous thing to be outside! I can’t stand being cooped up inside for long.’

When they reached the stile, he said, ‘Come – up here.’ He handed her up the step, then commanded, ‘Stop! Turn around, dear Margaret. That’s right. Now sit on it and face me. That’s right – one ankle crossing the other . . .’

Feeling slightly foolish she obeyed, humouring him as if posing for a photograph, though there was no camera.

‘So lovely – that green scarf against your hair. So fine.’

After staring at her for what became an uncomfortably long time, so that she started to fidget because she felt silly, he stepped up on to the stile, suddenly very close. His eyes bored into her.

‘My goodness, my dear, you are so lovely.’

She was leaning back a little, startled. Charles, who was not wearing gloves, laid his hand against her cheek. It was surprisingly warm. He tilted her face up towards him. Her gasp was stifled as his lips joined forcibly with hers and she realized to her horror that his tongue was beginning to push between her lips. She was paralysed with confusion. What in heaven’s name was he doing?

And as suddenly he pulled back, his eyes burning into her. She sat trembling, looking back at him.

‘You have never been kissed before?’ he said, and there was something in the way he said it that sounded pleased. He watched her. ‘You did not know . . . ?’

She shook her head, her pulse forcing hot blood into her cheeks. Was that kissing? All she had ever seen between her parents was a chaste kiss on the cheek.

‘My dear girl, how sweet you are,’ he said. He seemed about to say more, but he lowered his eyes and drew back abruptly, stepping down to the ground. ‘Climb over,’ he said, suddenly curt.

From then he was silent, seeming moody, and for Margaret the afternoon was spoilt. She felt she had done something wrong, but did not know what it was.