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‘Right. Well, it looks like you've got it all under control, Jack.’ I smiled back at him. ‘D'you get paid for this?’

‘Dream on. Mum's far too tight. And, actually, it's just as well she's not here, she wouldn't like that.’

He jerked his head across the hedge to the lane, where, having waited for the procession to pass, the last of the horseboxes were sneaking out and rumbling away in convoy, dripping straw and poo in their wake.

‘Anna must be about somewhere, then,’ I said, as we watched them go.

‘She was, but she and Phoebe went to a friend's house in the village.’

‘Oh, right. I don't suppose Ant's here, is he?’ I asked nonchalantly.

He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Dad might know. He's inside.’

‘Is he? I thought he wasn't here?’

‘Yeah, he's around somewhere. See you.’ He loped off, weary with interrogation, towards the marquee.

Actually, Ant could be with Tim, it occurred to me. Perhaps they were ensconced in the study? Deep in chat? About me? The black sheep? A family pow-wow? My chest tightened and I went to go in, then remembered Clarence. But he'd already spotted Malcolm, who was coming up the garden to meet him, looking rather radiant in his morning coat, blond hair freshly washed. It wasn't lost on Clarence and I saw their eyes shine at each other as they shared a moment. I'd just got my foot in the back door when I saw Caro's car draw up in the yard. She leaped out almost before the car had stopped.

‘Everything OK?’ she called anxiously, bustling across.

‘Perfect. The cars are parked, and everyone got from the church to marquee without incident.’

‘No wretched horseboxes dropping poo in the lane from next door?’

‘No,’ I lied, ‘and now everyone's drinking champagne.’

‘Waitresses circulating?’ Her eyes narrowed with professional alertness down the lawn.

‘Yup, and Jack and I held off on the canapés for a bit, just while they have a drink.’

‘Excellent.’ Her face relaxed and swam with relief. ‘Honestly, Evie, it's like a military operation. By the time Phoebe gets married I'll be doing it in my sleep. But thank you, it all slightly needs overseeing. Mother of the bride happy?’

‘I came out in a bit of a rush, Caro. Haven't really had a chance to—’

‘Don't worry, I'll go down.’ From just inside the back door where Barbours hung in serried ranks above wellingtons, she snatched a pink jacket and hat, which she slung on now over her denim skirt.

‘Keep them there for emergencies,’ she grinned, deftly swapping her boots for slingbacks. ‘Is your mother here yet? She was going to help me with the pigs.’

‘Haven't seen her, but she did say she was going to—’

‘NO, NO, THIS WAY!’ she yelled suddenly. She ran towards the hedge, calling over it to some latecomers, who were hurrying towards the yard, the wives tripping in high heels, hanging onto their hats.

‘Traffic!’ they wailed.

‘I know, dreadful! No, not through the yard, through the gate at the end of the lane, look…’ She beetled off, running parallel with them by the hedge, arranging her face brightly and shepherding them in at the bottom.

I went inside to find Tim. Not in the sitting room, or in the study. In fact all was quiet downstairs, so I went up. The children's doors were open, revealing exploding bedrooms, unmade beds and still closed curtains. I went on down the corridor to Tim and Caro's bedroom door, which was shut.

‘Tim?’

‘Come in.’ My brother's voice, subdued.

I poked my head round. He was lying on the bed in old jeans and a checked shirt. His gun was by his side. I stared, appalled.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Cleaning my gun. Why?’

‘Oh!’ I clutched my heart dramatically. Shut the door behind me. ‘I thought…’

‘What, I was topping myself?’ He sat up with a struggle. ‘Not quite there yet. But I can't even clean my gun without sitting – or lying down – now.’

‘Oh, Tim.’ I came and sat on the bed beside him: on the Jane Churchill bedcover they'd had for ever. I hadn't been in this room for a long time, but it struck me it had hardly changed since Mum and Dad's day. The faded chintz curtains still hung at