‘You can’t imagine the excitement of going to New York. America was wonderful – the size of everything, the skyscrapers, the chewing gum, the drugstores, and at Atholl the ease and comfort and the lawns and the hounds, and all those children. I fell in love with one of Margaret’s nephews, he must have been twelve, he seemed unutterably dashing, he taught me how to ride. This is the wedding album that Mark gave to his mother. There they are lined up in front of the big house – just like the album of my parents’ wedding, but here everyone’s laughing.’
‘Yes, they’re all in stitches. Except for the bride and groom, who look deadly serious.’
‘That’s me as a bridesmaid, very cheerful, I thought I was the prettiest girl in the whole world. Shall I turn over?’
‘Yes, turn over,’ says Pandora. ‘Ah, just the two of them.’ They consider a photograph of the bridal pair, caught as though unawares. ‘It’s an interesting picture, neither is smiling here either. They’re not even looking at each other.’
‘They’re holding hands.’
Pandora peers at the photograph. ‘His right hand is closed over her left hand, and her right hand is lying on his. As though. . .’
‘As though they’re making a pact?’
‘Just what I was thinking. You know, when I stayed with them in Paris, I saw this photograph on her dressing table, it was the only photo she had apart from her children’s.’