He raked his blond locks back from his bronzed forehead.

‘It looks great,’ said Caitlin, ‘particularly now the sun’s bleached it.’

A lot of passengers got out at Didcot, so they practically had the carriage to themselves. As the cooling towers of Didcot power station belched out unearthly white steam against a darkening charcoal grey sky, the gay barman came by with a black plastic bag, gathering up rubbish.

‘I want to keep my tonic tin,’ said Caitlin, grabbing it back.

As she put it in her bag, Archie examined the heart-shaped face, the pointed chin, echoed by the widow’s peak, the small, beautifully shaped green eyes, the snub nose, the coral-pink mouth, sweet now it was no longer set in a sulky petulant line, the blue-black mane parted on the left, which she kept lifting with her fingers and tossing over to the right.

Glancing up, she caught him staring at her and smiled.

‘That’s it,’ said Archie wonderingly. ‘Your brace has gone.’

‘So have your zits,’ said Caitlin.

Archie went pink: ‘I fancied you the moment I saw you.’

‘What about Tracey?’

‘She was just a net,’ said Archie.

They were nearing Cotchester now, dense woods clinging to steep hills on each side of the line giving way to lighted houses.

Archie removed his earrings, putting them in his pocket, because he said his father would only make a fuss. Then blushing again, he forced a tenner into the pocket of Caitlin’s clinging Lycra skirt.

‘What’s this for?’ asked Caitlin in amazement. ‘I owe you money.’

‘For a taxi,’ said Archie. ‘Percy, my father’s chauffeur, is meeting me, and if we give you a lift he’s bound to sneak to Dad.’

‘It’s just like the Montagues and the Capulets,’ sighed Caitlin. ‘I hope we don’t end up like Romeo and Juliet.’

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ said Archie, ‘and hopefully we can fix an evening when all our parents are away.’

Opening his bank statement next morning, Archie nearly fainted. To make matters worse, it was his mother’s birthday on Friday and he’d promised to buy her the latest recording of The Flying Dutchman. Normally he’d have tapped his father, who was a far easier touch than Monica, but Tony was still in Edinburgh for the International Television Festival. Besides, if Tony discovered he was financing a date with Caitlin, Archie would be crated straight back to Tuscany.

He’d been stupid to show off and buy them both first-class tickets and all that booze. If only he’d been back at school, he could have raised the cash smuggling in some booze and fags, or even porn mags, and selling them to other boys on the black market.

Nor was Caitlin the kind of girl who could be fobbed off with hamburgers and a video; she needed something special.

Grimly aware that he hadn’t touched any of the ridiculous amount of holiday work he’d been set, Archie gazed gloomily at the same page of Aristophanes for twenty minutes, then threw the book across the room. If he hurried he might reach the Bar Sinister before lunch and catch his Uncle Basil before he rushed off to polo or some amorous jaunt.

He found Bas humming the Vilja song from The Merry Widow and taking fifty pounds out of his own till.

‘Can I have a quiet word?’ said Archie.

‘You can have several noisy ones if you like,’ said Bas. ‘I thought your father had forbidden you to talk to me. Where is Rambo, anyway?’

‘In Edinburgh,’ said Archie. ‘And please don’t pump me.’

He admired his uncle, who always had the loudest tweed jackets and the prettiest girls of anyone he knew.

‘Have a drink?’ said Bas, taking down a bottle of Chambery and two glasses.

‘Yes, please. If I work really hard in the kitchens for three days, will you let me sign the bill for dinner for two on Saturday night?’

‘Are you bringing Tracey Makepiece?’

‘No.’

‘Good. There are limits. I really was on Tony’s side for once on that score. Yes, you can, then.’

On Saturday night Taggie’s violet dress paid its second visit to the Bar Sinister in ten days — this time with Caitlin inside it. But, with the waist jacked into nothing by a black corset belt, and the skirt turned up from mid-calf to mid-thigh by Taggie, it was almost unrecognizable. Archie, having scrubbed mussels for three days in the kitchen, and suffered agonies of doubt, like Mr Toad, that his hands would ever be unwrinkled again, felt he had really earned his date. Basil was out that evening, but all the waiters were in on the secret and gave Archie and Caitlin a table in an alcove where no one else would see them. Determined to get his wages’ worth, Archie ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and they started off with a wine race, seeing who could drink a half-pint of champagne fastest to get things warmed up. But after that they found that they were so excited by each other’s company they weren’t very hungry.

‘This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,’ said Caitlin as she toyed with foie gras on radicchio. ‘I can’t think why I can’t eat more of it.’

Archie slowly undressed a giant prawn and dipped it in dill sauce. ‘Try this.’

‘Gosh, it’s yummy. I wish school food was like this. Nellie Newstead found a used Band-Aid in her shepherd’s pie last term. Aren’t you dreading going back?’

‘Not if you promise to write to me.’

Caitlin looked up. God, she’s sweet when she smiles, thought Archie.

‘Every day, if you like,’ said Caitlin.

‘I’ve looked up the distance between Rugborough and Upland House,’ said Archie. ‘It’s only about forty miles. A mate of mine’s passed his test, so we’ll drive over and take you out one Sunday; and it’ll be half-term soon.’

Archie was wearing a dinner jacket over black baggy trousers and a grey and white shirt over a Sisters of Mercy T-shirt. He looks incredibly cool, thought Caitlin lovingly.

As if in a dream, she watched his sunburnt hand closing over her white one; his palm felt so warm and dry that suddenly she longed for him to touch her all over.

Archie ordered another bottle of champagne.

‘You really shouldn’t,’ protested Caitlin. ‘It’s frightfully expensive in restaurants, and I already owe you for my ticket and my taxi.’

‘You can pay me in kind,’ said Archie, gently stroking the inside of her wrist. ‘A pound a kiss. No, I won’t be able to afford it, a penny a kiss.’

‘Da mi basia milk,’ sighed Caitlin.

‘What’s that?’

‘Catullus. Give me a thousand kisses.’

‘Are you frightfully clever?’

‘Of course, that’s why I chose you.’

They screamed with laughter; suddenly the stupidest things seemed funny. Archie thought he should try and be poetic too.

‘Your eyes are the same colour as beech leaves in spring,’ he said, gazing into them. ‘You’re like a little wood nymph.’

‘A dry-ad,’ said Caitlin, taking a swig of her champagne. ‘Nothing very dry about me.’

‘What are we going to do after this?’ said Archie, getting out a packet of Sobranie. ‘Did you say your parents are both away?’

‘Daddy’s in Edinburgh, probably killing your father, but Mummy might be back from her rehearsal, although she seems to be getting later and later.’

‘There’s no one at home,’ said Archie. ‘I’ll get them to get us a taxi.’

It was only when she got up to walk out of the restaurant that Caitlin realized how drunk she was. It’s like InterCity all over again, she told Archie. Only by grabbing her arm did he prevent her cannoning off every table.

He kissed her all the way back to The Falconry. Caitlin, who’d spent three days practising kissing the palm of her hand, found Archie’s mouth a great deal more exciting.

And when they were ensconced on Monica’s huge flowered chintz sofa, having both carefully removed each other’s earrings, Archie discovered that Caitlin’s small, incredibly springy white breasts were far more thrilling than Tracey Makepiece’s. It was just a question of preferring nectarines to melons. And her waist was so tiny, once he’d removed the black corset belt, that he was terrified he might snap her in two. But nothing could exceed her enthusiasm.

‘I do hope I’m not too pissed to remember every minute of this tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Have you ever been to bed with anyone before?’ Archie mumbled into the gel-stiffened straw of her hair.

‘Never. Have you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lots?’

‘About two and three-quarters.’

‘A man of experience,’ sighed Caitlin in ecstasy.

Undoing a few more buttons, Archie, who was down to his Sisters of Mercy T-shirt now, kissed his way down her shoulder until he was sucking her right nipple. He was also wrestling with his conscience as to whether he ought to take her to bed. He wanted to like mad, but he was pissed enough to botch it, and she was certainly so pissed she might easily regret it in the morning. He had a condom in the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, which was hanging over the chair. But if he got up to get it, it might destroy the mood. But again it was unlikely they’d have an empty house to themselves for months.

As her little hands slid inside his T-shirt, he found his hand, as if magnetized, creeping up her legs.

‘I’m climbing your ladders to paradise,’ he whispered.

The next minute he jumped out of his skin as a great white light shone in at the window.

‘Holy shit,’ said Archie.

‘Ooh,’ squeaked Caitlin in excitement, ‘it’s a close encounter.’

‘Bloody sight too close!’ said Archie. ‘It’s my father flying in from Edinburgh.’

It was too late to make a bolt for it. With lightning presence of mind, Archie turned on a side light, plugged a tape in the video, pressed twelve on the remote control and did up Caitlin’s buttons.