‘Arthur,’ Verity said, and he was immediately alert. Her voice was breathy and fevered, not arch and brittle as usual. It seemed to be a sign of a change; an end to the tortuous dance between childhood friendship and adult sex. What that actually meant beyond tonight and the immediate future he didn’t care. She was not too good for him, like Muriel said.

In the distance he heard something humming. At first he thought it was the thunder echoing from far away and ignored it. But as his fingers fumbled with the back clasps of her dress, he realised she was not moving. She was concentrating, listening. He listened too, his fingers hovering. It was hard to tell if the rain had stopped as the bushes were still dripping with water. It wasn’t thunder. It was an engine. The hum grew louder until there was no other sound, drowning out the drip drip of the raindrops. Then it stuttered and stopped.

Dappled light lay on Verity’s hair and collarbone, like jewels. He stroked the nape of her neck but she twitched.

‘What is it?’ he whispered and he felt her shake her head.

He kissed her again and willed the silence to continue. Surely the intruders would go inside. Against his mouth her veins pulsed.

‘Arthur! Come out from where you’ve hidden yourself!’ It was Peter’s voice, booming through the stillness, followed by another male voice, distinctly American.

‘Hey, Art, I got something to show you!’

Jack. He didn’t move.

‘They’re calling for you,’ she whispered.

‘Ignore them. They can’t find me,’ he said, and kissed her shoulder. She shuddered and sighed. Her hand rested on his head and came down to his face. He took it, held it tight and reached for her mouth. All was quiet. The men must have gone into the house.

But as they kissed, a voice – Jack’s – called out, ‘Art!’ and she pulled her mouth away. He held onto her hand, reluctant to allow the air to come between them.

‘I can’t. Not with them there. I can’t.’

‘Ignore them,’ he whispered, close to her face.

‘Where the hell are you, Art?’ The sound reverberated through the trees.

‘We can’t,’ she said, and that was final. ‘You should go.’

His hand fell away from Verity’s dress and he straightened up. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

She nodded, but she wasn’t looking at him.

He wanted to kiss her again but he couldn’t bring himself to.

‘Sorry,’ she said, into the dark green of the trees.

He left her in the hidden grove and, immune to the wet leaves brushing his face, burning with rage at his so-called friends who had interrupted him and at her for letting them, he came out to the driveway.

‘Just grabbing some air,’ he said, trying to slow down his breathing.