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He raised a fist as though to strike Lars, only for Clive to turn from the table and shout, ‘Son, it’s all right. Don’t hurt him. He looked after me well.’

Edward lowered his fist. ‘Dad, what’s going on?’

As Pierce Littleslade turned in his chair, he said, ‘Reveal your hand, Dawkins. This is it. The moment of truth. Sink or swim.’

‘Dad, what’s going on?’ Edward cried again.

But Clive, his face partly in shadow, merely smiled.

From the other track leading up the hill came the wail of a police siren.

‘It’s all right, son,’ Clive Dawkins said. ‘This is the way things are supposed to be.’

He pushed forwards a stack of poker chips. ‘All in,’ he said. ‘The land that once belonged to the Littleslades against everything I have in my hand.’

‘Dad, what are you doing?’ Edward said.

Pierce Littleslade began to cackle. ‘Show your hand, Dawkins!’

Clive gave a soft smile. Then he turned over his cards one by one.

‘A pair of threes and king high,’ he said.

Behind them, the police car pulled into a small parking area just back from the hilltop. The driver’s door opened, and local policeman Mark Bobbins climbed out, before walking calmly towards the group beneath the tree, pausing to pull out a smartphone and take a picture of the sunset.

Pierce Littleslade was still laughing.

‘Arrest them!’ Edward shouted. ‘Arrest them quickly!’

‘What’s going on here?’ Mark Bobbins asked as he came over to Kelly and Edward. ‘Bit of a picnic under the tree, is it?’

‘My triumph is complete!’ Pierce Littleslade cried, laying down his own cards. ‘You gambled everything on a pair of threes and a king high? You utter fool, Dawkins! I have the other three kings. Three of a kind wins. The land is mine!’

Clive Dawkins simply smiled.

Edward cried out, ‘No!’

Pierce Littleslade leapt to his feet and embraced his wife.

As Lars walked calmly over to Mark Bobbins, he held out his hands.

‘Arrest me,’ he said.

‘Dad, what happened?’ Edward asked, hurrying over to Clive, who had his ankles handcuffed to the chair.

Even as the Littleslades danced together beneath the tree, Kelly came up behind Edward and Clive.

‘I’m glad you’re all right, Mr Dawkins.’

‘Who’s this?’ Clive asked, then frowned at Kelly’s wedding dress. ‘Have I missed something?’

‘Not yet,’ Edward began, before correcting himself. ‘No. This is Kelly. She’s a reporter from The Brentwell Daily. She was the one who tracked you down.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly said. ‘It looks like we were too late.’

Clive simply smiled. ‘That fool, Littleslade,’ he said. ‘I’d been planning to give that land back all along. It never really belonged to our family. It should always have gone back to the Littleslades in the end.’

He gave a small smile.