Said thick red curls have been gathered up and pinned in place, messy but diligent, loose spirals just damp enough to stick to her face and the nape of her neck as Sabine has a go at washing away the smell of horse and hay. She is waist-deep in water when she hears Margaux's voice, turning just enough to see.

"The crystals," Sabine says. "It is only a means for people to make arses of themselves more swiftly than usual. I did not listen to all of it," she adds.

As a hint.

Fill her in, would you.

There is wine, too. She even brought a couple of earthenware mugs, sitting beside the pools along with the corked bottle of red.