‘That’s perfect,’ said Lady Hardcastle as she sat down. ‘I’m not particularly fond of piccalilli, so I think your sandwiches are safe. I say, you don’t mind if Buffrey joins us, do you, dear? She’s been keeping us company.’
‘Not at all,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘Buffrey and I have known each other for simply ever, haven’t we? I’m sure Roz would have apoplexy at the very thought of you sitting down to lunch with us. But she’s not here, is she?’ She seemed positively gleeful at the thought. ‘Pull up a pew and dig in. I think Mrs R has been overgenerous as usual. There’s enough for everyone.’
Lady Hardcastle noticed Lord Riddlethorpe’s two Dalmatians lying to either side of Miss Titmus’s chair.
‘You are a poppet. And you even had to fetch the dogs yourself. I was supposed to find them,’ she said.
‘They found me,’ said Miss Titmus as she patted the dogs on their heads. ‘Didn’t you, girls? Have you met Asterope and Electra, Emily?’
‘I can’t say we’ve been formally introduced. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.’
‘They’re sisters. There were seven in the litter – all girls – so they were named after the Seven Sisters. Fishy kept these two. Their mother died last year. He was heartbroken, poor love.’
While she was talking, she took her plate from the table and sat back, ready to eat her sandwich. The dogs were suddenly sitting up and drooling slightly. Miss Titmus turned to her right and patted one dog’s head. While she was distracted, the other quickly leaned in from the left and took the sandwich from her plate.
‘Oh, Electra, you bad girl,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘That was my special lunch.’
To add insult to injury, the dog took one bite and spat the rest out. She barked.
‘Serves you right,’ said Miss Titmus with a chuckle. ‘Don’t like piccalilli, eh? That’ll teach you to pinch a girl’s sandwich.’
She reached down to retrieve the stolen food, but quickly thought better of it.
‘So much for my special sandwich,’ she said. ‘Good thing Mrs R made plenty after all.’
‘Try the cheese and tomato, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘There must be something about the soil out here. Or the sunshine. I’ve never tasted such sweet tomatoes.’
We tucked in. There was wine, as usual, and the mood became quite convivial. Betty had seemed a little uncomfortable at first, but by the time we finished the last of the food, she and Miss Titmus were getting along famously.
Feeling full and rather jolly, we gathered the golf clubs, summoned the dogs, and set off towards the middle of the racing track.
There was a small patch of smooth, level grass just inside the racing track. We stopped there and dropped the two golf bags. The Dalmatians bounced around us excitedly.
Lady Hardcastle allowed Miss Titmus to demonstrate the correct technique for holding the club and addressing the ball, and then took a few inept practice swings of her own. Miss Titmus corrected her stance and guided her once more through the mechanics of the perfect golf swing.
‘Let me have a go with a ball, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle, after a few more attempts. ‘Let’s see if I’ve got it.’
Miss Titmus produced a small rubber mat and a scuffed old ball from her golf bag. She carefully placed the ball on the raised tube in the centre of the mat and stood back.
‘It’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Nice big swing, and remember to keep going after you’ve hit it. “Follow through”, as they say.’
‘Right you are, dear.’
If Lady Hardcastle were a man, she would have been labelled a bounder and a cad. Sadly, there were no equivalent terms for a lady. Her oh-so-innocent claim of inexperience on the golf course – ‘It’s not something I’ve ever got round to trying’ – was an outright lie. She had been playing for at least twenty years, and if Harry hadn’t been so distracted by Lady Lavinia, he would have set the record straight at breakfast.
She addressed the ball, took her swing, and struck the ball cleanly on the centre of the club face. She launched the ball on a long, looping trajectory, which took it sailing over the crest of the small hill ahead of us.
‘Something like that, dear?’ said Lady Hardcastle with an impish grin.
‘Why, you absolute beast,’ said Miss Titmus, laughing. ‘You’ve been having me on all this time. You rotter.’
‘It’s all down to your instruction, I promise.’
‘Pfft. I’ve half a mind to send you off to fetch it yourself,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘But that would just be denying the girls their chance of a run.’ She ruffled the ears of the two eager Dalmatians. ‘Go on, girls, fetch the ball,’ she said in that eager voice everyone reserves for speaking to dogs and small children. ‘Fetch it.’
The dogs didn’t need to be told twice and were already on their way.
‘Do you fancy a go, Buffrey?’ asked Lady Hardcastle. ‘It’s awfully good fun.’
‘Well, I . . .’ mumbled Betty.
‘Oh, go on. Give it a try,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘While the evil old cat’s away, what?’
‘Yes,’ said Betty, with sudden resolution. ‘Yes, all right.’
She took the proffered club and did her best to imitate the swing that Lady Hardcastle had just demonstrated. Her first effort dug up a large divot in front of the tee and tipped the ball off the mat. Her second swooped high over the ball, and the momentum of her swing spun her round on her smooth-soled boots.
When we had all stopped laughing, she made herself ready to give it another try. There was a brief pause while we waited for the Dalmatians to return. Eventually one of them hove into view and trotted over to drop Lady Hardcastle’s now-slobbery ball at our feet. And then Betty took her third swing. This time she made contact with the ball and lobbed it about thirty yards in the direction of the hillock.
‘Nicely done,’ said Miss Titmus. ‘You’re a natural. And what about you, Armstrong? I bet you play with your mistress. Or are you going to try to kid on that you’ve never so much as seen a golf club in all your days?’
‘It would be amusing to try to pretend, miss,’ I said. ‘But Lady Hardcastle taught me to play years ago.’
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Well, let’s see what you’ve got, then.’
I played my stroke. I could tell from the moment the club hit the ball that it was going to be a good one. It flew straight and true. To my eye, it gained a good deal more height than Lady Hardcastle’s had, and I was disappointed that her ball had already been retrieved. It would have been fun to see how much further I’d hit it.
‘You two simply must come down to my local golf club on ladies’ day,’ said Miss Titmus gleefully. ‘I dare say you’d give some of the chaps a run for their money.’