He stumbled backwards, falling over, as she landed heavily on all fours by his feet. There was a moment of pause, Sholto blinking in disbelief through a mask of cream and jam.

Effie looked up at him and immediately creased at the sight. ‘Got you!’ she cried, doubled over with laughter, but as she went to get up to sprint back to the picnic rug, he caught her again – a hand on her leg, pulling her back along the grass on her stomach.

‘Not so fast!’ he panted, gasping with laughter too as she tried to wriggle free. ‘You really must try some cake!’ And his hand reached around her head, smearing cream all over her face.

She shrieked and twisted around onto her back, trying to avoid the dairy onslaught by thrashing her head from side to side. He changed tactics, falling still instead, and she opened her eyes to see what was coming next.

He was half crouched, half lying above her, one hand in the air ready to resume smearing her. He had cake all over his face, but as his eyes fixed upon hers, she felt the laughter die in her throat. In a flash, they were back there, spinning on the rope, covered in oil. Everything had changed, but nothing had changed. She saw the realization flood his eyes too, dismay and desire in equal measure . . .

‘I say! What fun!’

The voice made them both stop in their tracks.

‘Is this a private bunfight or can anyone join in?’

Sibyl was sitting astride a dun horse in the avenue which had a direct line of sight back to the house.

‘Sid!’ Sholto’s arm dropped down. He rose as if he’d been lying on a chaise, smoothing the cream off his face and hands with casual flicks. ‘You’re here!’

Sibyl cocked her head to the side questioningly. Wasn’t that self-evident? She was looking elegant in a long navy fitted jacket, cream jodhpurs and silk stock with a cloche hat. Effie immediately jumped to her feet. She looked down and saw her clothes were stained with moss and grass and exploded cranberries. ‘That’s all right isn’t it?’

‘Perfectly. It’s . . . wonderful. Although I’m afraid—’ He walked back to the rug and peered down into the wicker basket. ‘You’ve missed lunch. Unless . . . trifle?’

Sibyl shrugged. ‘Oh, I’m sure cook can rustle something together for me.’

Effie blinked. Both Sholto and Sibyl seemed to have moved into a mirrored gear of languor, as though it was being too late for lunch that was the calamity here. Was she the only one whose heart felt like it might explode? She was trembling, but she wasn’t sure if it was because Sibyl had disturbed them or because of what might have happened if she hadn’t.