They had been so engrossed, they hadn’t noticed the arrival of a stocky, grinning young man. He was chewing gum and wearing a gold earring, a pale blue tracksuit top and a blue towelling headband to keep his blond hair from flying about.

‘I came to see the reason you dropped three games in the singles,’ he said.

‘This is it,’ said Nicky.

Once more Imogen felt herself colouring painfully.

‘Congratulations,’ said the young man, giving Imogen a comprehensive once-over and shifting his gum to the other side of his face. ‘You always had good taste, Nicky.’

‘This is Charlie Painter,’ said Nicky. ‘My doubles partner. Fancies himself as a tough guy.’

‘I don’t take anything lying down, except pretty girls,’ said Painter, winking at Juliet. ‘Look, if you can bear to tear yourself away, we’re on court in a minute.’

‘I can’t,’ said Nicky, turning his steady, knowing smile on Imogen again. ‘You don’t need me. You can thrash those two creeps with your hands behind your back.’

‘The light’s terrible. It’s going to be like playing in a coal cellar,’ said Painter, peering out of the tent.

‘Well, appeal against it,’ said Nicky. ‘You know I’m frightened of the dark and I want to go on chatting up Miss Brocklehurst.’

Imogen shot a fearful glance at her father, but happily he was still nose to nose with the Club Secretary, rhapsodising over Hancock’s try.

The loudspeaker hiccupped and announced the finals of the men’s doubles. Reluctantly Nicky got to his feet.

‘There’s a party here this evening, I wonder if you — and your sister, of course,’ he added smiling at Juliet, ‘would like to come?’

‘Oh, yes please,’ began Imogen, but the vicar promptly looked round.

‘Good of you to ask them,’ he said blandly, ‘but I’m afraid they’ve already been booked to help at the Mothers’ Union whist drive. We shall look forward to seeing you at lunch tomorrow, any time after half past twelve.’