Pa went on, ‘You only have to look at the medieval carvings on this very church to acknowledge that throughout the centuries we have always incorporated the beliefs and symbols of other, earlier religions and cultures. And this design pays tribute to so many things: medievalism, the history of the Crusades and, not least, Wormley’s legitimate claim to its very own dragon. We consider ourselves to be blessed – and our thanks to everyone who is helping to make it happen.’

As we filed out of church I watched people shaking Pa’s hand to congratulate him, as well as stopping to thank Melissa Blackman and Jane Waddington. Pa’s face was lit with a genuine happiness we’d rarely seen since Mum died. I should have been pleased for him, but at the same time I felt heavy with foreboding: all this hard-won acceptance would disappear in an instant if the matter of the missing church funds wasn’t cleared up soon.

It was so hot, that summer, that we’d almost come to dread the sun rising every day. The heat hung over the countryside like a heavy blanket, stifling the breeze and deadening the birdsong. The farmers were afraid the corn would never fill and prophesied an early harvest with poor yields.

Jimmy and I flopped around, seeking every spot of shade or hint of breeze we could find. The garden was drought-stricken and brown, save for the twirling stems and white flowers of the still-rampant bindweed, and the fields on either side of the valley gleamed like bleached gold. Two elderly parishioners had succumbed to the heat, but their burials had to be postponed because the ground was too hard to dig the graves. Pa was even more preoccupied than usual, spending hours alone in his study or at the church, praying.

The heat seemed to compound my state of feverish anticipation about Kit. There had been no word from him since the birthday party five days before. I longed for just a little sign before the school term started again. In my imagination we would exchange witty and erudite letters and then, at Christmas, he would return home to whisk me away in a whirl of glamorous country-house parties.

So when Rob called around to say they were going swimming and would I like to join them, I eagerly agreed. ‘Is Kit coming?’

He shrugged. ‘Might do,’ he said.

‘I’ll go and get Jimmy, shall I?’

Robert’s smile faded. ‘The thing is . . .’ He hesitated.

‘What?’

‘Jimmy.’

‘What about Jimmy?’

‘What will he do? He can’t swim, can he?’

‘He can sit on the shore and wait for us. Anyway, he’d enjoy paddling,’ I said.

Just at that moment my brother appeared at my side. ‘Paddle?’ he asked, his eyes eager.