‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ she hissed. ‘You’re paid a bomb to rattle my husband and he’s been crawling over that ghastly vegan all afternoon. How the hell did he know she didn’t have milk in her tea?’

‘I’m sorry, Georgie.’ Lysander was flabbergasted. ‘I was so sorry for Kitty. I thought that was what you wanted. I wish we hadn’t got into the finals. When’s Guy going back to London? I miss you.’ He tried to take her hand, but Georgie snatched it away.

‘For God’s sake, everyone’ll see us.’

Flouncing off, Georgie found herself in a gaggle of women.

‘How’s Ant and Cleo going?’ asked Hermione, radiant with smugness at being in the final.

‘Fine,’ said Georgie shortly.

‘I just wonder if the musical is quite the right vehicle for Shakespeare.’

‘Kees me Kate grossed a few million,’ interrupted Cecilia. ‘Brush up your Shakespeare,’ she sang softly. ‘Start quoting him now. When you ’ave a score for Ant and Cleo, I like to see eet, Georgie.’

‘Oh — you’d be a wonderful Cleo.’

‘I would enjoy eet. Kiri ’as been Eliza Doolittle.’

‘The Verdi Requiem was fantastic, both you and Boris,’ said Georgie in wonder.

Hermione was furious.

‘It’s amazing how you manage to inject sex into everything, Cecilia.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Your “Libera Me” was more like Come and Get Me. You’re not doing too much, are you? Your voice sounded tired in Rannaldini’s rushes yesterday.’

This was a body blow. One only saw rushes in Rannaldini’s tower.

‘Don’t talk crap,’ said Flora rudely. ‘Mrs Rannaldini sang wonderfully. She lifted the Verdi every time she opened her mouth. And at least she doesn’t duck out at the last moment because of a lovers’ tiff.’

‘Why zank you, Carissima,’ said Cecilia in amazement.

Abandoned by the vicar, who had beetled off on seeing Lysander looking miserable and standing by himself, Rachel was screwing up courage to ask Cecilia how Boris was, but, hearing arguing voices, didn’t think this was a good moment. Putting her cup down on the table, she idly fingered a yellow snapdragon, squeezing its mouth open as she had when she was a child. Like a cloud over the sun, Rannaldini glided up.

‘Enjoying yourself, Meesis Levitsky?’

‘Not particularly.’

His smile was mocking, his thighs as hard and thick as the magnums of champagne that Mr Brimscombe was now opening for those who had finished playing. She’d never met a man who upset her more.

‘This place is a disgrace,’ she fumed. ‘We’re in the middle of a drought. Your garden is an oasis.’

‘I know how to look after my own,’ said Rannaldini softly. ‘I thought you like things green.’

‘Not at other people’s expense. Don’t be fatuous.’

Rannaldini noticed the slight down on her upper lip and the underarm hair inside her sleeve as she scratched a midge bite in her hair.

Smiling slightly, he edged a finger into the snapdragon’s gaping, furry mouth. Instantly Rachel let go, and the mouth shut, gripping him.

‘One day, amore, a more exciting part of you will greep me, and you will love every minute of it,’ he said softly.

‘Don’t be disgusting.’

‘In fact, you will beg for eet.’

‘Your host not looking after you?’ said Guy arriving with a magnum and two glasses. ‘Presumably you want to keep your eye in until after the final, Rannaldini?’

‘Won’t make any difference. ’Ermione,’ he called out, ‘we’ll start in five minutes.’

‘The grass was very “Kitty” this morning,’ announced Natasha, collapsing on the bank beside Flora to watch her fat stepmother make a fool of herself in the finals.

‘Kitty?’ asked Ferdie, squatting down beside her.

‘Stands for “wet”,’ snapped Natasha.

‘Why are you so vile to Kitty?’

For a second, real pain flared in Natasha’s face.

‘I can’t bear to think of her in my father’s bed.’

‘I shouldn’t think she is very often,’ said Flora reasonably.

‘Fancy Kitty, do you?’ Natasha taunted Ferdie. ‘If she rolled over in bed, she’d squash you flat. Although you’d probably do the same to her.’

Ferdie got to his feet.

‘Can I give you a word of advice?’ he said politely. ‘If you’re trying to pull Lysander, he’s never been attracted to bitches.’

The sun dropped into the towering Valhalla woods, the shadow of the abbey with its tall chimneys stretched towards the tennis court like a great black hand as the players took up their positions. Rannaldini had service. Trembling, Kitty waited to receive. Opposite her at the net, skipping from foot to foot in her Grecian dress like an avenging Juno, crouched Hermione.

Lysander had lost all his bounce. He wanted a stiff drink and this match to be over as quickly as possible so he could make it up with Georgie before she left. She’d already put on a cardigan and gathered up her racquets. He could see her pretending to listen to Meredith’s patter as she watched Guy plying Rachel with champagne and compliments as they discussed saving the rhino.

In a quarter of an hour Rannaldini and Hermione were leading 5–0. They had followed a deliberate policy of hitting the ball at Kitty. Like a child fending off blows, she missed everything, apologies pouring from her whitening lips. Lysander simply wasn’t trying.

‘Your little friend certainly cracks under pressure,’ Guy called out scornfully to Georgie.

As the players changed ends, Rannaldini beckoned Natasha.

‘We’ll be through in a few minutes. Run and tell Mrs Brimscombe to put the kettle on.’

Bastard, thought Georgie. Lysander and Kitty looked so cast down and Hermione so smug.

‘Horsey, horsey,’ she suddenly called out to Lysander as he slouched past her. Then as he swung round, she smiled, whispering: ‘Don’t let the old bat get away with it.’

Blissful to be forgiven, Lysander sauntered back to the base line. Next moment an ace whistled past Hermione’s pink sweat band. Changing sides, Lysander curved into a perfect bow, threw up the ball and blasted it across the net — just out, which was lucky for Rannaldini who’d been staring at Rachel and hadn’t even seen it. The second service was even faster.

‘Out, fifteen-all,’ snapped Rannaldini as he walked back to the base line.

Lysander didn’t budge. ‘That serve was in.’

‘It was out,’ snarled Rannaldini.

‘It was in — sir. If you’re going to cheat, there’s no point in playing.’

Kitty quailed. Rannaldini’s face contorted in rage. The spectators exchanged glances of gleeful anticipation.

‘That ball was in, Rannaldini,’ agreed Bob who was umpiring the final. ‘I saw the chalk rise.’

On cue, Maggie came bounding on to the court, nose brown from digging, pink tongue lolling, frantically searching for her master. In a fury, Rannaldini picked up a ball and served it at her, only just missing, sending her fleeing in terror from the court. Instantly Lysander bounded over the net, seizing Rannaldini by the lapels of his cream polo shirt.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

‘Vafuculo,’ swore Rannaldini. ‘You should learn to control your dogs.’

‘Not in the way you control your bitches,’ retorted Lysander so only Rannaldini and Hermione could hear. ‘You ought to be suspended for excessive use of the whip. Your partner can hardly sit down today.’

Hermione froze — speechless and open-mouthed — like a photograph of herself reaching top C.

‘Keety ’as been sneaking,’ said Rannaldini in a fury.

‘Not at all.’ Lysander scooped up a ball. ‘You should keep the windows of your indoor school shut on hot summer afternoons.’

It took all Bob’s tact to get them to play on.

To Lysander’s relief that Georgie had forgiven him was added a cold fury with Rannaldini, and his game took on a sustained brilliance as, with great leaps, he intercepted the viciously powerful bombardment Rannaldini was directing at his terrified wife. Hermione, worried how much Lysander had overheard, had been totally put off her game.

‘That tea’s going to be very stewed,’ crowed Georgie twenty minutes later. ‘Hermione’s quite fat, isn’t she?’

‘Kind Bob always turns down the scales when she comes home from tours,’ said Marigold. ‘Oh, good shot, Kitty.’ The spectators gave a great cheer. ‘They’ve caught up at last.’

At six-all they went into a tie-break.

‘Well done, Kitty. Take it slowly. You’re doing brilliantly,’ said Lysander, as, like a cat washing its ears, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with an inside arm.

Rannaldini kicked off and won his first serve. Watching his brute strength as he uncoiled like a cracked whip, Lysander was unpleasantly reminded of his behaviour in the indoor school. Fired up, Lysander served two aces, and somehow Kitty got Hermione’s next serve back. Bounding in front of Hermione, Rannaldini poached her ball. But, in trying to pass Lysander, he left his own side exposed. Unpassed, Lysander powered the ball away into the farthest corner. Hermione now served to Lysander, promptly netted his return, and turned dark red as Rannaldini swore viciously at her under his breath.

‘Kitty and Lysander lead 4–1,’ said Bob, not without satisfaction. The spectators were cheering every point.

Kitty managed to lob her service in to Hermione, who was so upset by Rannaldini’s invective that she hit it straight to Lysander who whipped a top-spin pass down the backhand. Rannaldini didn’t get near it.

‘Someone’s soon going to have to save the Rhino-ldini,’ drawled Flora.

The crowd, except Rachel and Guy, howled with laughter. Rannaldini was so furious that he ran in, hitting such a vicious return to Kitty’s service that she ducked to avoid being killed.