‘Ye gods,’ the young man said, in quite a different tone.

He switched off the engine and was out of the car in a flash, not bothering to take the key but scrambling nimbly up the bank towards the hedge almost before Margaret had time to register that he had moved at all. She began to follow him, clumsily, calling out, ‘She hasn’t got her inhaler. She forgot her inhaler.’

‘Where is it?’ he yelled.

‘At home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Down there. Barton Cottage.’

He paused for a second, halfway through the hedge. ‘I know Barton Cottage,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring her. Get home and tell them I’ll bring her.’

‘You can’t—’

He had pushed through the hedge by now. He shouted down at Margaret, ‘Do as you’re bloody told!’ and then he vanished from her sight.

‘I’ve known Barton all my life,’ the young man said.

He was standing by the fireplace in the cottage, towelling his hair with an old beach towel Elinor had fetched from a box on the landing. Marianne was on the sofa with her inhaler and a little faint colour in her cheeks. She and her mother and her sisters were gazing in disbelief at the young man by the fireplace.

‘I just about come from round here. In fact, I’m staying in a house a couple of miles away, called Allenham. It belongs to my aunt. She’s pretty well immobile now, but I’ve come all my life, every school holidays. It’s a bit tricky to get away and come much, now, but I do when I can. She’s an old sweetie.’

Belle swallowed. It had not crossed her mind to send Margaret upstairs to find dry clothes. Nothing at all practical had crossed her mind since the mounting anxiety about Marianne had begun with the change in the weather, followed by Margaret’s distracted, sobbing arrival home, bursting with some incoherent story about an asthma attack and a man bringing Marianne in a car, and then the almost immediate roar of a sports car outside and a perfectly strange and godlike young man appearing at the front door with Marianne in his arms, as pale as a ghost but still breathing. Still breathing. Belle stared and stared at the young man. Even if he hadn’t looked as he looked, he would have been a hero to her: rescuing Marianne, bringing her home as respectfully as if she had been – had been a single flower. A lily. A butterfly. A broken butterfly. He had been almost tender.

‘I – I don’t know how to thank you,’ Belle said, ‘I just …’

The young man stopped rubbing. His hair was thick and dark and glossy. He grinned. ‘Then don’t.’

‘But you can’t imagine how we feel, what you have done for us.’

He glanced at Marianne. He raised one dark eyebrow, very slightly. ‘Oh, I can.’

Margaret peered at her sister. If she hadn’t been so pale, Margaret would have said she was blushing. ‘Do you have a name?’

He smiled. He dropped the towel casually on to the hearth and ran his hands through his hair. Even in wet jeans, he looked magnificent. ‘I’m John.’

Margaret said, almost shyly, ‘We know lots of Johns.’

‘Ah,’ he said. He winked at her. ‘But I am John Willoughby. And everyone calls me Wills.’

‘May we?’ Belle said.

‘I’d be offended if you didn’t.’

‘And we are—’

‘I know who you are.’

‘You do?’

‘Everyone round here knows everyone else’s business. Aunt Jane told me. She said there were new people in the new cottage and – well, I won’t tell you what she said until I know you better.’

Marianne put her inhaler down. She said, hoarsely, ‘I’m afraid that wasn’t a very good introduction.’

He looked suddenly sober. ‘Not from my point of view.’

She tried a little laugh and choked on it. Indistinctly, she said, ‘Rescuing damsels in distress …’

He said quietly, ‘One hell of a damsel.’

She tilted her head back slightly. Even bedraggled from the rain and battered by the attack, her hair matted in damp clumps, Elinor marvelled at her sister’s looks. A quick glance towards the fireplace indicated that she was not the only one marvelling. John Willoughby was wearing the expression familiar to Elinor for most of Marianne’s life, the expression she had seen on Bill Brandon’s face only that morning. And the fragility that asthma gave her, coupled with the natural intensity of her personality, plainly only magnified her appeal.

Marianne said, in a stronger voice, ‘We were looking at your aunt’s house. We were up there, looking down …’

‘Were you?’

‘It’s wonderful. So wonderful. So ancient and knowing, somehow. It made me want to cry.’

There was a brief powerful pause.

‘Did it?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘D’you know, it has that effect on me, too. I’ve always adored Allenham. When I was little, I never wanted to leave.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Can you? Have you ever lived anywhere like Allenham?’

‘Oh yes,’ Marianne said. She pushed herself a little more upright. Her skin was brightening. ‘I lived in the most amazing house. In Sussex. I grew up there.’

‘We all did!’ Margaret said indignantly.

‘I wish I had grown up at Allenham,’ Wills said, ignoring her.

Margaret looked out of the window. She said, determinedly, ‘Is your car a Ferrari?’

‘No,’ he said, still looking at Marianne.

‘What is it then?’

‘It’s an Aston Martin.’

‘Wow,’ Margaret said. ‘I never saw one before.’

Wills looked down at his wet clothes. ‘I ought to go. I’m sopping.’

‘Please come back again,’ Belle said. ‘Please.’

Marianne said nothing. Elinor watched Wills watching her.

‘I’d love to.’ He bent towards Marianne, half laughing. ‘Please, no more running in the rain. I might not be there to rescue you.’

She smiled at him with a smile Elinor would have described, if Marianne were not still holding her blue inhaler, as languorous. ‘I’ll try not to.’

‘Because’, he said, ‘I couldn’t stand anyone else to rescue you.’

Margaret gave a little gasp and put her hand over her mouth. Elinor said to her, quickly, ‘Why don’t you go ahead and change?’

‘Yes,’ Belle said, as if waking from some kind of dream. ‘Yes. Darling, go and change. And Elinor, do put the kettle on.’

Wills held up a hand. ‘Not for me. Thank you. Aunt Jane’s expecting me.’ He gave an almost imperceptible smirk. ‘The obligations of the heir …’

‘Oh my God,’ Marianne exclaimed. ‘Are you the heir to Allenham?’

He nodded.

‘So fortunate,’ Belle said dazedly.

Marianne’s eyes were shining. ‘So romantic,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘That’s what I think.’

He came right up to the sofa. He said, looking down at Marianne, ‘I’ll come and check on you tomorrow.’

She looked straight back up at him. ‘Yes.’

‘Take care of yourself.’

‘Oh, we will,’ Belle said with fervour.

Wills smiled at her. ‘This cottage feels great already.’

‘Oh! Oh, it’s so ordinary …’

‘Depends entirely upon the inhabitants, you know.’

Margaret said, dawdling in front of him, ‘Can I have a go in your car sometime?’

‘Of course.’ He looked round at them. ‘I’m here for a bit longer. We can rip up some of Jonno’s miles of drives.’

‘Yes, please!’

‘On one condition.’

‘Anything, anything!’

‘No more thank yous,’ Wills said.

And then he was gone. A slam of the front door, of his car door, the roar of the engine and he was gone, leaving the atmosphere behind him as charged and alive as if it had been full of fireworks. They looked at each other in the strangely complicated silence that he had left behind him. Then Marianne put her hands over her glowing face. From behind them, she said, ‘Don’t anyone say anything. Nothing. Not one word.’

‘Oh, he’s such a dish, isn’t he?’ Mary Middleton said without much emphasis.

She was standing in her enormous recently fitted kitchen, spooning fruit purée into her youngest, a little boy with his father’s ripe apple complexion, who was wedged into an immense and expensive-looking high chair.

‘Amazing,’ Belle said. She had been given a cup of coffee from a dedicated espresso machine. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a better-looking man.’

Mary bent until her face was level with her baby’s. She said, in a diddums voice, ‘Don’t talk like that in front of Mr Gorgeous!’

Belle sighed. She had never much liked babies, even if she had adored her own, especially when they grew into articulate children. She said, ‘Does he come down here often?’

Mary straightened and began to swoop another spoonful of purée down towards the baby, as if it were a descending aeroplane.

‘Well, enough to keep the seat hot, if you know what I mean. Do look at this face, watching the spoon. Open mouth, poppetty, big big mouth for Mumma. Jane Smith is a dear, and she adores that boy. But he’s spoiled, if you ask me.’

Belle looked into her coffee cup. The coffee had a creamy foam on top. It looked, it had to be said, extremely authentic. ‘We thought he was charming.’

‘Oh, charming all right.’

‘What does John think?’

‘Jonno?’ Mary said. She scraped the spoon along the baby’s chin. ‘Oh, he just thinks he’s good fun. You know. Good shot, fun at parties, all that. He knows how to behave, I’ll grant him that. And, of course, he’s very ornamental. Though not’, she said, bending again, ‘half as ornamental as some scrumptious people.’

The baby blew a few appreciative bubbles.

‘And’, Belle said, still looking at her coffee, ‘he’s, well, he’s going to inherit Allenham?’

Mary dropped a kiss on her son’s head and began to untie his bib. To Belle’s eye, she looked in remarkably good shape for someone who had had four babies so close together, and her clothes and hair seemed to owe more to Bond Street than to Barton.

‘That’s what we gather,’ Mary said. ‘Jane’s got no children of her own, and this is her only sister’s boy, her younger sister. She – I mean Wills’s mother – died years ago, of a brain tumour or something, poor thing – and his father was useless, by all accounts, lives abroad, one of those old-fashioned playboy wastes of space. Up you come, poppetty. Ooh, what a heavy boy! So lucky old Wills stands to get everything and of course she dotes on him. Not that she’s a pushover, mind you. She’s very strict about some things.’ She put her mouth into the baby’s neck. ‘Just like your mummy.’

Belle said slowly, ‘He came up to the cottage this morning …’

‘Oh!’ Mary said, settling on a bar stool next to Belle with the baby on her knee. ‘Don’t touch that cup! Hot, hot, hot! We know all about this morning. Poor old Bill. He spent hours finding all the best late roses to take up to Marianne and then there was Wills with a handful of nothing from the nearest ditch, and she didn’t even look at the roses!’ She smiled down at her son. ‘What a naughty girl, baby, what a naughty, naughty girl. And then we get Bill back here looking utterly down in the mouth, and he won’t stay, will he, but says he’s got to get back to Delaford and off he goes at a million miles an hour, gravel sprayed all over the hedges. And they’d only just been trimmed.’

‘Come on,’ Belle said. ‘He is Marianne’s age—’

‘Who? Wills? Oh, I know. But Bill is such a darling. He’s adorable with my little lot, so sweet. It’s so sad he hasn’t any of his own. Officially, that is.’

The baby had found a teaspoon under Belle’s saucer, which he was now banging randomly about and shouting. Mary made no attempt to quell him.

Flinching slightly, Belle said, ‘He seems awfully nice. Bill Brandon, I mean.’

‘What a noisy person! What a noisy, noisy boy! Oh, he’s lovely. You can’t believe no one’s snapped him up, can you? There was supposed to be somebody he’d adored once who wouldn’t have him or went off the rails or something, but he’s frightfully private, I’ve never heard him say anything himself. No, not on Mumma’s hand. Poor Mumma’s hand! And there’s a daughter somewhere—’

‘A daughter!’

Mary took the spoon out of the baby’s right hand and put it in his left. He instantly transferred it back again and resumed banging. ‘Well, I don’t know. He’s never mentioned her, so it may be just a rumour. Such a waste, if so; he’s so good with children. Not that that’s very hard, is it, my pumpkin? He’d be a fantastic husband, so loyal. And I think, personally, he’d love to be in love again.’