The dun horse took a few steps back, but Sibyl was unperturbed. Effie could see she sat well in the saddle and, from her sanguine demeanour, that she was an accomplished horsewoman. She could feel the other woman’s nimble scrutiny and Effie knew she must look . . . wild by comparison. ‘Well, I do wish you’d said you were planning a food fight,’ Sibyl pouted. ‘I’d have joined you like a shot. You know how I hate missing out on the fun.’

‘This . . . wasn’t planned,’ Effie said, becoming aware of a cranberry in her hair and reaching up to remove it. ‘It was my fault. I started it.’

‘Did you indeed?’

‘Barra told me you were sleeping, Sid, and I didn’t like to disturb.’

‘You know I don’t mind being disturbed by you,’ Sibyl said in a lower voice as though her words were only for him. But Effie didn’t think that was true.

‘I thought you’d want to rest as best you could before the party.’ Sholto was wiping the cream off his face; only a tiny amount remained on his neck, like shaving cream. He ran his hands through his hair and it stayed slicked back, sticky but sleek.

‘That’s just it! I had a darling idea for what to wear tonight! It came to me in my dreams and that was it, I was awake.’

‘That’s what got you up?’ Sholto sighed, reaching down for his jacket and shrugging it back on. He looked like a different man – an old man – to the one who had just laughed and chased Effie through the trees. ‘What is it, then?’

‘It’s a surprise. You’ll see!’ she teased coquettishly.

He didn’t look terribly excited. He glanced towards Effie but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. ‘Well, I expect we ought to be getting back.’

He walked over to where he had tied the horses.

‘What about all this?’ Effie asked, indicating the basket and rug, the plates still loaded with food.

He looked back, the sight of it seemingly almost painful to him now. ‘Oh . . . just leave it. One of the grooms will be up later to fetch it.’

It seemed wrong, to Effie, to leave it there, but she knew she couldn’t very well carry all that back and ride at the same time. She needed both hands, both legs and her brain very much engaged if she was going to sit on a horse’s back again. She repacked the basket again as best she could. It seemed the least she could do.

‘Here.’ She turned to find Sholto standing beside her mare, his hands clasped together, creating a small step of sorts. ‘I’ll give you a leg-up.’