Both Imogen and Juliet opened their mouths in protest, then shut them again. They knew their father. Just for a second Nicky’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.

‘I shall look forward to it too,’ he said, and followed Painter out of the tent.

‘Sod the Mothers’ Union,’ muttered Juliet.

‘I know you like them below the age of consent,’ said Painter, as they walked towards the No. 1 Court, ‘but isn’t she a bit wet behind the ears?’

‘Older than she looks, left school two years ago,’ said Nicky, pausing to sign a couple of autographs. ‘And very nice, don’t you think?’

‘Sweet,’ agreed Painter, signing them too.

‘And entirely untouched by human hand,’ said Nicky, ‘which makes a change.’

‘We were the first that ever burst into that sunless sea,’ said Painter and laughed. ‘All the same, you’ll never get your spoon into that pudding. Bet the old Rev locks them both in chastity belts every night.’

‘He’s asked me to lunch.’

‘So what? He’ll still never let you get near enough to pull her.’

‘Want to bet?’ said Nicky, taking a racket out of its press, and making a few swipes with it. ‘Bugger, my shoulder’s playing up again.’

‘A fiver,’ said Painter, taking off his blue jacket.

‘Make it a tenner,’ said Nicky, flexing his shoulder.

‘All right, you’re on.’

As he and Painter took the first set 6–0, Nicky was aware of the vicar and his daughters watching him. He was glad his first serve went in each time, and for once volleys, smashes, lobs, drop shots, everything, worked. He was getting to the ball so quickly he had time to examine it for bugs before he hit it. This was the kind of barnstorming form he’d got to maintain for the rest of the season. He flashed his teeth at Imogen and saw she was about to go.

Nicky had reached the age of twenty-six without ever falling seriously in love.