A minute later they were kissing, properly, and it was lovely. He no longer remotely felt like her dad. He was a really good kisser, just the right amount of pressure and tongue action, and his hands began to roam around her body, rubbing her back at first, then along her thighs, and up over her breasts, where they stayed, squeezing gently until she felt a corresponding thrill between her legs. She wanted to stop but found herself pressing closer to him, sliding out of the chair and onto her knees so that their torsos were pressed tightly together.

‘I want you,’ he murmured, and in the heat of the moment it didn’t seem ridiculous or at all inappropriate. She just nodded, kissing him again. ‘I always have. Can we go back to the cottage?’

Meredith hesitated, reality creeping in for a moment. She didn’t want to sleep with Ralph in her bed or on her sofa. Somehow that felt worse than anything that happened here. Like calories in food not counting when it was eaten from someone else’s plate.

‘I can’t wait that long. And someone might see us walking over there,’ she said. ‘One of the gardeners might be working late.’

‘Do you want to?’ His hand was inside her bra, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She nodded again.

‘You know what else I’ve always wanted to do,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘Have sex in the Gilt Room.’

‘Ralph! You dirty bugger. With me, or just anybody?’ She couldn’t help laughing. The Gilt Room was as it sounded – the house’s formal drawing room on the ground floor, a chandelier the size of a baby elephant in the centre and the walls and ceilings entirely covered in ornate gold leaf. ‘There’s CCTV in there; we can’t.’

‘Let’s go and have a look,’ he said, dragging her to her feet and handing her the bottle of Jack. ‘With you, of course, in answer to your question,’ he added, as Meredith took a swig, grinning at his answer. They had dispensed with the formality of mugs.

‘Surely you know where all the CCTV is? You’re estates manager!’ she reminded him, feeling naughty and rebellious. ‘And if there is a camera in there, deal’s off.’

Meredith was fairly sure there would be a camera. The room was stuffed with valuable vases, oil paintings and objets d’art. But as Ralph said, they didn’t have CCTV in every room. She started visualising where they might do it. On the rug? Best not on the rickety old brocade sofa; that was an original piece from when Lady Wilmington lived here. That would be hard to explain, if they broke it.