‘I don’t know.’

‘You let all your friends tell you he’s perfect because they want you packaged off and happy, and you don’t stop to wonder if you think he’s perfect. You wouldn’t buy a new winter coat like that, Poppy; why on earth a man? The trouble is, you aim too low. You’ve no confidence. And if you aim low, you get low. You get a loser. And you are more than worthy of a winner. There are plenty of them out there too. I should know, I married one.’

‘Roger.’

She didn’t talk about him much. Barely at all, so I never did either. Angie probed occasionally, but got nowhere. But she did once say that the fifteen years she’d been married to him had been the happiest of her life. He’d died of testicular cancer at forty-five; no children.

‘Yes, Roger. And because of him, because he was such a find –’ Her eyes shone suddenly. ‘Oh, Poppy, if only you’d met him. Such fun. So alive. And such a safe pair of hands too. Because of him, I won’t marry again. No one will ever match up. Oh, I know I play it for laughs and flirt with all the eligible old bachelors, but that’s all it is. A laugh. I haven’t been with another man since Roger died.’

I tried to hide my surprise. He’d been dead a long time.

‘But you’ll meet someone,’ she urged. ‘You’re young, you may even marry again, but Poppy, never, ever settle for anything less than perfect.’ She eyed me steadily over the rim of her glass. ‘A good marriage is the best thing in the world, but a bad one is the very worst. If a racing certainty doesn’t come along – and it might not – stick to your own company.’ She smiled. Touched my glass with hers. ‘We’ll be merry widows together. Deal?’

I smiled. ‘Deal.’ I felt my anger subside and something like relief flood through my veins. To be like Peggy. To end up like Peggy, who I’d always admired, would not be so bad. Would be pretty terrific, actually.

‘And there are some nice men out there,’ she mused. ‘Jennie’s Dan, for instance, albeit in short pants.’

‘Yes, Dan’s lovely,’ I agreed.

‘Angie’s Tom too.’

We regarded each other guiltily. We both liked Tom, even though he had behaved very badly. But then, Angie probably wasn’t the easiest woman to live with. There were two sides to that story, as there often are.

‘Did I tell you I saw him the other day?’ she said casually.

‘No, you didn’t. Where?’

‘I ran into him in town. Had a drink with him.’

‘Really?’ I was intrigued. ‘Does Angie know?’

‘No, she doesn’t, and don’t tell her.’ She sipped her wine. ‘Apparently she rang him.’

‘Yes, she did, and he didn’t return her call. She’s devastated.’

Peggy didn’t say anything for a moment, then: ‘Angie’s either devastated or thrilled to bits. Cast down or euphoric. Never anything in between. That can be quite exhausting. Tom knows he behaved like an arse but sometimes … ’ She hesitated. ‘Well, sometimes we all need some space. Just to get things into perspective.’

I snorted with derision. ‘Space. That sounds horribly like psychotwaddle to me, like some garbage some counsellor’s told him. And I wouldn’t call a middle-aged man running off with a twenty-six-year-old groom and leaving his wife and children perspective. Last drop?’

‘Why not,’ she said, looking at me with interest as I poured. Normally I agreed with most things she said. Was easily persuaded. But my nerve endings were still quite exposed from the last ten minutes, and much as I liked charming, good-looking Tom and had had some riotous evenings in his company, I wasn’t prepared to make too many excuses for him.

‘Are you going to that?’ Peggy asked, changing the subject. She nodded across at the dresser where, amongst the blue and white plates, I propped the occasional invitation. I followed her eyes to a stiff white card embossed with an elaborate italic script.

‘Oh. No, I doubt it.’

It was a ticket to the hunt ball, which had been dropped through my door. By Mark, I assumed. ‘Compliments of the hunt’ had been scrawled on a slip of paper inside the envelope. But then, I had made quite a large donation to the hunt. A handsome cheque, which I’d popped through his door earlier. And Mark had rung me, overwhelmed.

‘We can refurbish the kennels, Poppy, keep all the staff. I was going to have to let the kennel girl go. It’s so generous. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t say anything.’

And then the ticket had arrived pronto, by hand through my door. And, actually, my plan had been to ask Luke, tonight. See if he’d come with me. Waltz in with my new boyfriend. But that would have sealed the deal, wouldn’t it? And my fate along with it. Knowing myself as I did, it would have been hard to stop that stone rolling into a relationship.

‘In fact not, I’m definitely not,’ I said with some relief, and only a little regret at the thought of the glittering occasion I knew I would be missing. It was being held at Mulverton Hall, Sam’s place. Even more reason to waltz in with Luke, a bit of me had thought. I realized I’d felt ridiculously betrayed on discovering he’d been married to Hope. Had wanted to trump him. Why was that? And naturally everyone in the area was keen to go to the ball this year, being held as it was, not in the usual soggy marquee in a field at the kennels with a sticky dance floor and overflowing portaloos, but at the local manor, which no one had been inside for years. Oh yes, even the most fervent anti-blood-sport types would be there: never underestimate the snoop factor. There was talk of a vast black and white hall with a gallery and sweeping staircase – Mrs Briggs knew someone who cleaned – and there Sam would be, at the foot of it, handsome in black tie, with Chad and Hope too. The three of them in an eternal triangle. I wondered how much Hope enjoyed that? Sam shooting her haunted looks? No, that was uncharitable. I didn’t know the woman. It probably tore her apart. Not as much as it did Sam, though. I gave myself a little inward shake. Other people’s lives. Get on with your own, Poppy.

‘I take it you’re not going either?’ I asked Peggy, wrapping my dressing gown firmly round my legs. It wasn’t really her thing. Peggy had an aversion to establishment socials, preferring instead her usual corner at the Rose and Crown, where she played backgammon with her cronies.

‘Yes, I thought I would, actually. Tom was sent a double ticket. I might go with him.’

I was astonished. ‘Really? Golly. Square it with Angie first, don’t you think?’

‘No, I didn’t think I would,’ she said calmly, draining her glass. ‘Tom quite wants the surprise element.’

‘Right,’ I said, boggling. Quite bold of Tom to show his face, and even more bold of Peggy to accompany him. ‘That’s very much Angie’s fiefdom,’ I told her nervously. ‘She’ll be queen bee, top table.’

Peggy shrugged. ‘As Tom was for years. And all his friends will be there and he hasn’t seen them for ages. His girls will be going too, don’t forget. They’d love to see him. I’ve talked to Clarissa about it.’

‘Have you? Isn’t she away at school?’

‘Yes, but I’ve got her mobile number. She thinks it’s a good idea.’ She gave me a steady, impenetrable look I couldn’t fathom. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. Haven’t decided yet. Night, Poppy.’ She got briskly to her feet and blew me a kiss. Peggy didn’t do embraces. Didn’t go in for much bodily contact at all, come to think of it. ‘And well done you.’ She smiled down at me. ‘Good decision. Cleaning that oven.’

I smiled. ‘Thanks.’

Peggy left the same way she’d arrived, via the back door. I got to my feet and stood in the open doorway, watching her go down the garden path, from where she’d disappear through the gate, then into the field and around to the front. Suddenly it occurred to me that she might not have run into Tom in town. She might have arranged to meet him, to talk to him. Persuade him to come to the ball, knowing he’d been sent a ticket. For Angie’s sake. She might, in fact, be working some sort of magic. Now that Tatiana had gone, and now that Angie appeared to be softening slightly, was less bitter. Now that both husband and wife had had time apart to think, she might be judging the time was right. Because Peggy was like that. A good judge. Or … was I endowing her with powers she didn’t have? Perceptions that were beyond her? I didn’t think so somehow. Odd, wasn’t it, how some people had that sage-like quality. Did it come with age, I wondered? Or had it always been there? As Peggy’s mauve velvet coat disappeared in a flurry through the garden gate it reminded me of something. I couldn’t think what. Ah yes, an illustration in one of Clemmie’s books. Merlin.

I stood in the open doorway a long time after she’d gone. The ewes grazed quietly now without Shameless, and I loved the way the enormous chestnut tree spread its boughs over them. In summer the huge dark leaves hung like a protective swirling skirt and although they were almost bare now, the branches still seemed to offer shelter. The late climbing rose by the door brushed my cheek, its scent redolent of warmer days, and drizzle dampened my face. In the certain knowledge that my fringe was beyond redemption, I let it fall: let it frizz. I realized, with a start, that I was quite content. Was, in fact, relishing being alone. I smiled up at the chestnut tree and was about to go inside when, suddenly, the French windows next door flew open. Frankie shot her head round.