Sam Tye floats through a manicured English garden on a bright spring afternoon, willowy and sun-kissed in a short cap-sleeve shift dress of inky navy splashed with pink and white, long honey-blonde hair loose over her shoulders. She poses beside a weathered stone lily pond, the old brick manor and lavender borders sighing behind her, her toned legs slipping into sheer black stockings and creamy nude platform heels. There is something irresistibly girlish about the way she glances sideways at the camera, part garden-party heiress, part schoolgirl who knows a secret.

The pretty dress soon becomes an invitation rather than a disguise. Sam peels it open to reveal a delicate black lace bra, a turquoise thong and sheer black stockings clipped to a matching suspender belt, the bright blue flash popping against her porcelain skin and the green of the hedges. By the last frames she has slipped the top away entirely, standing lithe and topless in only the suspenders and stockings, looking back over her shoulder at the lens with a teasing half-smile. The English countryside has never felt quite this flirtatious.