It is a summer so warm that the only sensible response is to take a walk in the English countryside, and Hayley Marie Coppin has dressed accordingly. She sets off down a sunlit country lane in a black-and-white zebra print long-sleeved mini dress that manages to be simultaneously wild and elegant, gold heels clicking on the dry earth track, her long blonde hair catching the light as it filters down through the green canopy overhead. The lane runs between tall hedgerows and ancient trees, their leaves so vivid and dense that the whole path glows like a green-gold tunnel, and Hayley walks it with the unhurried confidence of a woman who knows the countryside belongs to whoever looks best in it.
Then, because the afternoon is warm and the lane is quiet and it is just the two of you, the zebra print starts to come loose. The dress slips away, item by item, the white underwear following, until Hayley walks the final stretch of that sun-dappled path in absolutely nothing at all, the discarded garments swinging lightly from one hand, the golden light sculpting every bare curve as she moves. It is the quietest, most beautiful country walk imaginable. And the most revealing one by some considerable distance.