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I shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

‘I mean, I saw Dominic’s pictures in the papers, obviously, and it strikes me Hal’s a sort of darker version? Bit sallower, maybe?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Terribly attractive, don’t you think?’

I ignored her and walked on across the lawn.

‘Well, I thought he was gorgeous. Not surprised some French girl’s snapped him up. I bet she’s a looker. Although he’s left it late, I must say. He must be nearly forty, but perhaps he’s been busy playing the field. Getting it all out of his system. And he’s obviously a bit of a cad if he’s tipping his sister-in-law out. Poor thing, she didn’t look quite with it. Very shaky paws.’

‘She drinks.’

‘Ah. I wondered. Lovely daughter, though. And she clearly remembers Seffy.’

‘Who does?’ The tennis duo had left the court and come up behind us. Daisy was trailing them, holding a hen in her arms.

‘Oh – sweet!’ cooed Maggie. ‘Is it real?’

‘Course she’s real. You can stroke her, if you want.’ She proffered the bundle of golden feathers. Maggie reached out a tentative fingernail and almost touched its head.

‘Who remembers me?’ repeated Seffy.

‘Letty Forbes’s daughter,’ I said shortly. ‘Who won the match?’

‘Seffy, as usual,’ complained Biba. ‘It’s so unfair, he should be made to serve underarm.’

‘Apparently you met her at a social?’ prompted Maggie.

‘Oh, yeah. I remember. She was nice. Where d’you see her?’

‘Just now, in the village.’

‘She’s at St Hilda’s,’ said Biba, throwing up an imaginary ball and serving it with her racket. ‘I’ve played lax against her. She’s really pretty.’

‘Who is?’ asked Daisy.

‘Cassie Forbes? Her dad’s dead and her mum’s an alchy. It’s really tragic. I feel really sorry for her.’

‘I wouldn’t mind being tragic,’ remarked Daisy. ‘Everyone’s always really nice to you and feels sorry for you.’

‘Don’t be silly, Daisy,’ I snapped, then regretted it instantly. Daisy’s pale blue eyes widened in shock.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered quickly. ‘Seffy, we should get going straight after lunch. You’ve got a play rehearsal this evening.’

‘I’m going back with the girls.’

‘What – on the train?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s madness. You’ve got a hell of a walk from Newbury station. I can take you to the door!’

‘I like walking.’

‘But I wanted to pop in and see your housemaster.’

Seffy was already walking, though, off towards the back of the house, where the summerhouse was, and where the rackets were kept: ignoring me.

‘Seff!’

He turned; continued walking backwards. Widened his eyes. ‘I’m going back with the girls, OK?’

Biba and Daisy trailed after him. I watched for a moment, then, tight-lipped, turned and followed Maggie, who, unused to country ways was heading resolutely for the front door. Well, it was wide open and actually, I decided, trying to breathe, trying to calm down, it was probably best I didn’t follow him; say something I regretted later.

The entrance hall at the Abbey was about the size of the tennis court the children had just vacated, complete with vaulted ceiling and domed skylight. A grand staircase to our right divided in two halfway up, then ran around the first floor as a gallery. Laura had rather sensibly put comfy armchairs down the far end of the hall under a window that caught the morning sun, and where Dad was installed even now, working his way through the rest of the newspapers, as was his wont. Meanwhile, in the main, echoing, and rather gloomy body of the hall, with its terracotta and blue Victorian tiled floor, were gathered other members of my family. We’d clearly interrupted a master class. Mum and Laura were listening, rapt, to their mentor.

‘Now this is where I’d like to see some real drama!’ Ralph was saying, twirling around, arms aloft. ‘You’ve got space… use it! Emphasize it, don’t clutter it! I’d clear all those chairs away.’ He waved an imperious hand at the offending items, which included my father. ‘Get rid of them all. And I’m thinking conch.’

‘Conch?’ Laura asked.

‘Yes, a conch.’

Laura and Mum looked bewildered, as well they might. They willed themselves