“It’s hard to believe that Johnny set all this up,” Arthur said. “Would he really stitch you up like this? He seemed to quite like you.”

“I think he felt bad about it,” Lizzie said, “but yeah, I do believe that he was so fixated on saving Amelia that he would have done just about anything to achieve that.”

“I guess so,” Arthur said. “You know, you’re the Queen Elizabeth I equivalent in this version of the story, if Johnny’s theory is to be believed.”

“Which has to be one of the most bizarre aspects of this apparent repeating pattern,” Lizzie said. “I’m nothing like her.”

“There are similarities.” For the first time in a long while, Arthur smiled. “The red hair, the...ah...strong personality and—” he nodded at the crumbs on her plate “—the sweet tooth.”

“You mean I’m a diva,” Lizzie said. She sighed. “Well, you could be right.” She looked round. The tea shop had emptied whilst they were sitting there and the staff were rather ostentatiously polishing the tables and looking at them sideways. “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,” she said. “They want to clean up. We’d better go.”

They paid the bill and went out onto the high street. Daylight was fading; the church clock chimed five. The stream of cars up the hill seemed relentless.

“It’s an odd mix, isn’t it,” Lizzie said, “all this noise and modernity in a place that looks like a costume drama film set.”

“It’s managed to keep its character, though, despite everything,” Arthur said. “Burford’s a beautiful place. I’ll drive you back,” he added. “Protect you from the paparazzi.”

“Thanks,” Lizzie said. She pulled on a felt hat of her grandmother’s that was adorned with an outsized flower.

“That hat totally works,” Arthur said, straight-faced. “No one will recognise you at all.”

“I’m sure no one cares really,” Lizzie said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Land Rover. “It’s refreshing. Actually, I could walk,” she added, as the vehicle roared into life, setting the little phoenix charm above the dashboard swinging and making a number of tourists jump. “It’s only two minutes away.”

“It’s no problem,” Arthur said. He pulled out into the traffic and waved his thanks. “I’d like to see The High. It’s supposed to be a nice example of Georgian architecture.”

“It’s not a good example of anything at the moment,” Lizzie said, “apart from what can happen when nature takes over. Renovating is on my list of things to do,” she added, “along with trying to decide what I want to do next with my life.”

“Any thoughts?” Arthur gave her a sideways glance. “I know you said you were planning on writing music again, but you could do anything else you want to. Travel, go to university, set up a charity...”

“Or all of those,” Lizzie said. “I’ll let you know. The High is here on the left,” she added, gesturing to him to go through the wrought iron gates. “I told you it was close.”