It was a good song that didn’t deserve Kim’s baleful influence. Will, who had a reasonable tenor, began to sing in self-defence.

He’s not so good in a crowd but when you get him alone

You’d be surprised

He isn’t much at a dance but then when he takes you home

You’d be surprised

He doesn’t look like much of a lover

But don’t judge a book by its cover

He’s got the face of an angel

But there’s a devil in his eyes...

Kim shot him a look with plenty of devil in it. “Pine woods again? I was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable the bracken was.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Will would have liked to hold hands. If he’d been walking with his girl on a day like this, if he’d had a girl, they would have been holding hands. He took a swift scan of the landscape to see if anyone was around to notice them. Inevitably, there was a gardener or some such making his way along a path, in their direction.

“God, there’s people everywhere,” he muttered.

“This place takes an astonishing amount of upkeep.”

“What would you do if it was yours?”

“Give it to the nation. The staff would have to be considered, there’s people who’ve spent their entire working lives here, but one could sell the less good paintings to rich Americans and pension everyone over fifty on the proceeds.”

“Not a hard decision?”

“I hate it,” Kim said. “Well, I’m currently rather fond of these gardens, and the Floral Stair, but otherwise I hate it and I would absolutely rid myself of it. The hard part would be the twenty-odd years of my father alternately ordering me to serve our heritage, refusing to give me any power to do so, berating me for my unworthiness to inherit, and wondering why I’m not more grateful for the privilege. Frankly, I’m amazed Chingford didn’t leg it for the Continent long ago. I’m not surprised he prefers London life.”

“What does he do all day?”

“Clubs. Horses. Barmaids.”

They were at the pines by now. The gardener bloke was still in sight, but they were probably all right for a bit on fun on the forest floor once they got into the trees.

It was hot enough that the shade was welcome. The smell of pine on the breeze and warm earth and the green scent of bracken enveloped them, and Will filled his lungs. “God, this is nice.”

“Do you miss the countryside?” Kim asked.

“Not in winter. I’ve had enough mud for a lifetime. Bloody hate mud.”

“You can tolerate London fog, though?”

“It’s not mud.”