Six

Mellow pantiles, uneven in places, roofed an elderly cottage of rusty-pink brick. The projecting scullery was not quite central, and the windows, half-hidden beneath encroaching ivy, were set with even less regard for balance. Yet overall the effect was charming, the impression that of a place which was loved, despite its idiosyncrasies. To the north, a high wall flanked by Lombardy poplars gave shelter to fruit trees and an abundance of vegetables, while a screen of roses divided the kitchen garden from a broad strip of lawn.

With his back to that mass of pale pink roses, Robin Elliott peered through the lens of his borrowed camera, and wished his brother would try to look as though he belonged to the group, instead of standing so tall and uncompromising behind them. Frowning, too. He was bored and eager to be off, but Robin was determined to have one more picture, and to make it a good one.

Calling out to Liam to bend, kneel, or otherwise shrink into place, he waited while Georgina organized him. Liam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the seat back, his face turned towards her, smiling; she turned to the camera, folded her hands, and Robin pressed the shutter release.

Immediately, they all began to move. ‘Oh, don’t rush away,’ Robin pleaded. ‘Let’s have just one more.’

‘But you’ve taken half a dozen already,’ his mother pointed out. ‘And we can’t sit here all afternoon, posing – I’ve got tea to make, if nothing else. Come on, Tisha,’ she added, taking her daughter’s arm before she could disappear, ‘we’ve got things to do.’

There was an audible groan from the girl, and a reluctant droop to her shoulders as she headed for the kitchen. Turning to their hostess, Georgina Duncannon asked whether she needed more help.

‘No, dear – you sit and talk to your father. I know you don’t see him very often.’

But Robert Duncannon was apparently more interested in examining the photographic equipment, demanding to know how it worked, and what the time exposures needed to be. Flattered, Robin was only too keen to share his knowledge, to talk about the career upon which he had so recently embarked. He was even more impressed by Colonel Duncannon’s interest in his other activities, particularly his part-time membership of the local volunteer force.

‘If you should ever change your mind, and decide to make the army your profession,’ Liam overheard him say, ‘do get in touch with me first. I have a little influence at the War Office, and might be able to do something for you.’

Watching them with their heads together, just for a moment the two struck Liam as being very much alike. And the resemblance was more profound than that of shared height and colouring. Very briefly, he was disturbed by it; and then his brother moved, and the similarity was gone.

It seemed, glancing round, that there was something dour in his father’s steady observation of the pair. Liam wondered why. Was it Robin’s obsession with photographing anything and everything in sight? Or could it be that their father was less than pleased to be entertaining this wealthy, distant relative with his fine clothes and expansive manner? Their mother, certainly, had been quite overcome by that unexpected note which arrived as they were sitting down to Saturday dinner, thrown as close to panic as he had ever seen her. And since the Colonel’s arrival with Georgina an hour ago, she had been smiling and chattering like a young girl. That, too, was unusual. Perhaps his father was jealous?

The thought crossed his mind fleetingly, and was as quickly dismissed. After all, he reasoned, married couples with grown children had no cause to be racked by emotions like that.

On the seat before him, Georgina was also alert to that conversation between her father and Robin. He could see tension in her spine and the set of her smooth blonde head, and thinking she was hurt by her father’s careless neglect, Liam was ready to condemn the man forever. As he moved, however, she glanced round at Liam, and the eyes which met his softened into a smile.

‘What a pity,’ she remarked lightly, ‘that photographs can’t show colour. Those roses are so beautiful.’

Although he knew it was not the roses which had claimed her attention, Liam went along with the fiction, suggesting she should return to paint them one afternoon. At that she laughed, saying her expertise was too limited, she could never do them justice. He denied it, having seen some of her botanical drawings, and the painting she had done for his mother, which now had pride of place in the parlour. They argued, amicably, and as she stood up he straightened, ready to fall in with whatever she wanted to do, wherever she wanted to go. He liked her immensely. She was so easy to be with, quiet and self-effacing, so gently humorous that sometimes it was a while before her wit was appreciated. There was such an attractive lilt to her voice, with a little bubble of laughter in it, he could have listened to her for hours. She often teased him for his seriousness, but from her he did not mind. Unlike his sister’s barbed wit, Georgina Duncannon’s held no hint of mockery.

For the last three months, since arriving in York to nurse at the Retreat, she had been visiting regularly, spending most of her days off at the cottage, helping his mother in the kitchen or garden, and joining the family for their evening meal. Georgina’s affection for his mother often surprised him; he tended to forget that they were distantly related, and Georgina had known them all for years. That she remembered him as a small child, far more clearly than he remembered her, was sometimes embarrassing. It also underlined the gulf between them, the great divide of age and class. She could, he knew, have spent her life in Dublin considering nothing more strenuous than her social obligations, but she had chosen, instead, to become a nurse. With one course of training behind her, she had recently embarked upon another, at the Quaker hospital for the mentally ill.

Georgina worked harder than he did, and his heart ached at the sight of her ungloved hands, often red and chapped from the zealous use of carbolic. In that respect at least, Liam could understand the Colonel’s anger at his daughter’s choice of vocation. She tended to laugh about it, but to defy her father’s authority must have required a matching strength of will. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe. Touching pretty shrubs, pausing to lean close to a full-blown rose, she seemed no less fragile than they.

Newly-painted railings guarded the front garden like a row of bright-green spears, and recalling recent hours spent chipping at rust, Liam flushed with pleasure at her praise. He was particularly proud of having cured the gate’s long-lasting squeak, despite his father’s claim that it would not be cured for long. For now, however, the gate was opening easily, and at Georgina’s suggestion that they should walk a little way along the riverbank, Liam readily agreed.

In one direction, the sandy, tree-shaded path led past allotment gardens and a boat-building yard, and ultimately into town. To the right, it meandered past woods and open meadows where he and his brother and sister had played as children. Liam always thought how well-placed they were, within a few minutes’ walk of the city, yet having miles of open countryside to hand. He had learned to swim in the river, learned to row, too; and now, when he needed to escape, he had his bicycle, handy for riding to work, but handier still for exploring outlying villages on his own. Unlike Robin, his interests were solitary ones, and except when Georgina was around, Liam much preferred his own company.

As he closed the gate, the sound of cat-calls and whistles reached them from the far bank. Beneath the trees on New Walk, Liam caught sight of some girls in colourful finery, hurrying along before a group of soldiers from the nearby barracks. In some embarrassment, he remarked that the girls should know better: New Walk was notorious in that respect. But Georgina smiled impishly, saying she thought the girls were heading towards the fairground on St George’s Field, and were determined to have some handsome escorts.

For a moment they stood and watched the progress of that unsubtle courtship, and sure enough, the girls slowed down, introductions were made, and the group moved on together, towards the fair. They could hear, distantly, the sound of deep base notes from a Gavioli organ, overlaid by snatches of a popular melody.

They looked at each other, and looked away. After a short pause, Georgina said she had never been to a fair. Liam, who had been to several over the years, was surprised. His sense of decorum, however, made him point out that fairs could be rough and rowdy, hardly fit for a lady. Looking crestfallen, Georgina said yes, her Aunt Letty would agree; but a moment later she declared that she would love to go.

‘I know I shouldn’t,’ she said with a quick, upward glance, ‘and particularly today... But they’ll be gone by my next day off, and I might never get another chance…’

Her appeal found its mark. Liam looked up-river towards Skeldergate Bridge, assessing the time it would take to walk round to St George’s Field. Then he glanced back at the house, thinking of her father, and his mother making the tea. Suddenly he remembered the old rowing boat which was often moored by the slipway, and stepped down the bank to see if it was there.

‘Wait a minute, I haven’t got my hat!’

He grinned. ‘If you go back for that, they’ll want to know where you’re going.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed, feeling reckless, infected by a desire to be young and silly and happy, instead of the serious, dedicated woman she had become. She felt guilty, too, remembering the reason for her father’s visit. The guilt, however, merely spurred her on.

They hurried towards the slipway. Liam handed her down the bank and into the boat, and in one neat movement took his place by the oars. With long, smooth strokes he soon had them across the river. As they passed beneath Blue Bridge and into the stream of the Foss, he explained his intention. He would moor in the Foss Basin, where the boat would be safer, and the facility of steps made alighting easier. From there it was but a few yards to the fairground.

Georgina admired his capability, was touched by the over-protective, very formal way he escorted her. At home amongst his family he was usually relaxed, saying little, but happy to be in her company. It was easy to treat him like a younger brother, and he made no objection to that. For the first time, however, they were out together in a public place, and that seemed to have set every sense on the alert, made a young man of the boy she usually teased. Watching Liam as they pushed through the noisy, laughing crowd, it suddenly came to her that he was behaving as he might have done with a girl he was courting. Silly though it was, the idea was so touching it brought a lump to her throat. Very quickly she looked away, exclaiming at the stalls and sideshows, the music and the crowds.

There was an enormously fat, bearded lady, who looked stronger, Liam said, than the so-called strong man in his tights and leopard skin; and a shooting gallery doing excellent business amongst the young soldiers present. At one of the stalls he bought her a bag of pink and white coconut ice, presenting it shyly and refusing to take any for himself. Then, among the gaily-coloured stalls and that dazzle of noise and movement, they found the source of the music, the biggest crowd.

There was a huge roundabout with pairs of painted wooden horses rising and falling, and here and there a carriage for two turning to the music of the great Gavioli fair organ. It was such a delightful sight, Georgina clapped her hands like a child, saying they must have a ride, she could not possibly leave without trying it. In the end they had two turns, once in a carriage and next on the horses, going round and round until she was dizzy. It was like dancing, she said; only much, much better, more like flying, and she loved it. Her delight was infectious, and as he helped her down, Liam was laughing too, eyes sparkling, teeth white against the smooth summer gold of his skin. She was so happy and he was so beautiful, she wanted to hug him. But as his hand lingered on hers she drew it away, pushing on through the crush before he should notice her silliness getting out of hand.

‘It’s time we went,’ Georgina reminded him, and as they stood to assess their bearings, she noticed a tight knot of men behind one of the tents. There was a scuffling within the ring, and at first she thought it no more than rivalries that had developed into a fight. Then a dog yelped and another squealed, and she saw a sheen of lustful eagerness on faces that were turned towards her, money changing hands.

‘Whatever’s happening over there?’

Liam’s smile faded. ‘Dog-baiting. But they won’t be at it long,’ he added gruffly, ‘here’s the constable.’ Even as he spoke, the warning was given and the ring broke, men scattering in all directions. Slavering and bleeding, the dogs were dragged apart and leashed, their keepers feigning outrage and aggression in an attempt to cover their guilt. Georgina was struck by a horrible similarity between them: evil, predatory eyes and snarling mouths. The men, she thought, were more repulsive than their dogs.

She was glad to be led away. They walked back in silence to where they had left the boat, saying little as they re-crossed the river. That sickening scene had taken the edge off the afternoon, reminding Liam of a reality which could never match up to his dreams, and Georgina of unpleasantness waiting in the wings.

Tying up, walking the few yards back to the cottage, she would have preferred to stop, to sit for a while on the riverbank, and tell him why her father had come to York today. But it was a long, sad, complicated story; and once begun, she was afraid she would cry. That would never do. ‘People don’t want to know your sadness,’ Aunt Letty always said. ‘If asked, you’re very well, thank you, and you must never complain.’

Aunt Letty was good and she was kind, and Georgina loved her dearly, but oh, she often longed to be honest, to tell someone how she really felt. Especially now, with her mother dead only two days, and the funeral to face, and the past welling up like a tidal wave. Stoic to the last, Aunt Letty would never understand, and her father, Georgina knew, was simply glad to be free of that poor mad woman who had haunted his life for twenty-five years. Impossible to be honest with him, when so much of her sadness was tied up with his abrupt comings and goings, and lengthy, interminable absences.

Louisa was the only one who would understand; yet how could she talk to her, now? It would have to wait until after the funeral, when she came back from Dublin. But her next day off could be a fortnight away.

Georgina had been well-trained. She was a little quieter than usual when she and Liam returned, but amongst the constant buzz of conversation it went unnoticed. They were just in time for tea, and some instinct kept them both from admitting where they had been. It would be their secret, she thought, catching Liam’s eye as he sat down, and no one could be shocked at that unsuitable entertainment when she should have been grieving.

In the parlour, the table was out to its fullest extent and set as though for a banquet, with white damask and silver cutlery, china plates and a centre-piece of midsummer flowers. Three varieties of pie graced the setting, with salads and cold meats and eggs in mayonnaise; and on the dresser stood a crystal dish of ripe crimson strawberries, with a matching jug full of cream.

Georgina was amazed at the speed with which this unexpected visit had been catered for. In the kitchen, Louisa admitted she had baked a larger amount than usual that morning; the rest was quickly put together, and the strawberries and salad were fresh from the garden. With a smile, she handed over a tray, turning to the range to rescue a boiling kettle.

‘Did my father say why he’d come to York today?’

‘Well, no,’ the older woman admitted, looking slightly puzzled. ‘I imagined he’d come to visit you for a few days. Was there something else?’ she asked keenly.

‘It’s not important now – I’ll tell you later.’

Louisa shot her a look of enquiry, then with a sympathetic smile patted her arm. ‘Make it soon.’

With another ridiculous lump in her throat, Georgina went through into the parlour and took her place next to Liam. Her father faced her, with Tisha and Robin on either side, and Edward at the head of the table. As Louisa took her place at the foot, Georgina thought how little she had changed. More matronly, of course, and with fine lines around her eyes and mouth, but the beauty of her smile had not diminished. At that sparkle of amusement in Louisa’s eyes, her father responded with even more gallantry than usual.

She had watched him in recent years with various women, and knew him well enough to detect the slightest insincerity. And she was old enough to know what he wanted and from whom. Once she had been appalled, but nursing had taught Georgina the simplest facts of life, and experience with the mentally deranged had inured her to shock. Now, she accepted that her father had physical desires, and in the absence of a wife must seek satisfaction where he could. Not that it seemed to have been difficult: Robert Duncannon could be both generous and affectionate, and even at fifty, was still an attractive man.

Watching him, remembering the years between — nine or ten, surely, since his last brief visit here – Georgina was astonished to realize that her father’s inclinations towards Louisa were still unchanged. Despite Edward, despite the gathered family in this haven of domestic peace, he could still want Louisa, and be careless enough to let it show. Darting an anxious glance around the table, she noted Edward’s studiously blank expression and burned for him. Robin and Tisha were arguing amicably, noticing nothing, but Liam, beside her, was tense with all the alertness of a young male in the presence of a threat.

Beset by a furious sense of panic, she wished her father would simply go, get on the next train to London and not come back. As soon as they were alone she would tell him so. It was unfair that he should come here, after all this time, charming Louisa, making her remember things which were surely best forgotten.

With sharp frustration she moved, accidentally scattering cutlery from her plate. The knife shot across Liam’s lap, depositing blobs of mayonnaise as it landed by his feet. Exclaiming, apologizing, Georgina seized the distraction. Grabbing Liam’s arm, she almost dragged him into the kitchen, handing him cloths and instructions, hurrying back to deal with the other damage. But she saw that she had broken her father’s spell. While Louisa bent to wipe the mess from the carpet, Robert Duncannon remembered his manners and turned his attention to Edward.

In the kitchen, Liam was ruefully surveying the state of his best suit. Regretting the action which had caused the damage, hoping it was not irrevocable, Georgina apologized again. He glanced up from beneath a lock of thick fair hair, his mouth twisting into a wry grin.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmured, ‘there’s no need to fuss.’

Straightening, he held her gaze, seeming suddenly much older. In the depth and shrewdness of his glance, for the first time she saw a likeness to her father. It unnerved her, and she did not know why.

Dismissing the idea, she told herself that Liam was nothing like Robert Duncannon. In looks he was his mother’s son, in character he was Edward’s. Sensitive, something of a dreamer, he was a boy still trying to find his feet. A boy who turned to her for advice, because to voice his uncertainties to either of his parents would have hurt them. A sharp memory of that stolen hour at the fair, however, his protectiveness and a hand which might have lingered on hers, caused a sudden apprehension. Sternly, she told herself that he regarded her as a sister, there was nothing more to it than that.

Although she repeated the litany several times in the course of the next hour, Georgina found herself taking surreptitious glances for confirmation. With similar looks, Liam seemed to be keeping an eye on her father, who was now behaving himself admirably, engaging the younger members of the family in conversation. If anything, Tisha was the one who was flirting. Just sixteen and working as a clerk at the new confectionery works outside town, she was full of her own achievements. Conscious, too, of a pretty face and blossoming figure, she angled unashamedly for compliments. And laughing, Robert Duncannon indulged her, just as Edward did.

She was that kind of girl, Georgina thought without envy, one who would always have men on her side. The pity of it was that Tisha had so little compassion in her heart. Self-centred and acquisitive, it seemed all she wanted were the trappings of wealth. One day, no doubt, she would find a man to provide them. In the meantime it galled her that the Elliotts continued to live in this humble riverside cottage, when their means should have run to a town-house with at least one live-in servant. That her mother enjoyed gardening, selling excess produce to neighbours and passers-by, was another source of embarrassment. In Tisha’s eyes, Edward Elliott was a man of some substance, respected both socially and professionally: his wife should not demean herself by selling fruit and vegetables like any common market trader.

In short, the girl was a snob. Robin might ignore it, find excuses for it, sometimes even be on her side, but Liam never would. Idealistic and uncompromising, he found it hard to forgive his sister for the dissensions she caused, and most particularly, for the pain she inflicted on his mother.

He must learn to bend, Georgina thought anxiously, learn to give a little, before life dealt blows which could break him. His brother Robin resembled her father, sharing a certain resilience of spirit which marked them out as survivors. But Liam was different. Liam worried her, because in that very upright stance he was vulnerable, and as things stood at the moment, danger walked too close to him.

The sun was setting as they said their goodbyes at the gate, farewells which were a little too prolonged for Georgina’s taste; and Edward’s too, she thought, reading his expression. Impatient, keen to put some distance between him and her father, she hurried along the sandy path, slowing only as her feet touched cobblestones before the bridge. Here, the jolly fairground music was louder, and with her mind on what had driven her there that afternoon, rather than the joy of it, she spoke more sharply than intended.

‘You know, Daddy, you could have written. There was no need to travel all this way.’

Robert paused, a little out of breath at her youthful haste, and a little hurt that she should address him so. ‘I haven’t seen you,’ he reminded her, ‘for several months. Is it unnatural that I should want to see for myself how you are?’

His daughter’s profile, beneath that uncompromisingly plain hat, reminded him of his sister’s in one of her more intransigent moods. Indeed, as Georgina grew older, he could see the likeness more and more. Fair where Letty was dark, nevertheless his daughter had the same fine bone-structure, inherited from Robert’s Irish mother. And Letty too had been beautiful in her youth. For a moment, he was tempted to be cruel, to tell his blonde and willowy daughter that if she was not careful, she would end up a prickly, angular old maid like her aunt.

But he was fond of Letty, and was it entirely her fault that she had never married? Letty could have had any one of a dozen suitors, even in her thirties. Instead, she had taken on the care of a new-born baby, and turned her back on society. Despite Robert’s pangs of guilt, she had never reproached him on that score; indeed, when pressed, always said Georgina had given her the chance of knowing something of motherhood, without having to suffer the inconvenience of a husband. That always reassured him, always made him laugh.

He was not laughing now, however. Letty had managed to instil too many of her own unconventional views into this child of his, denied her too many frivolities. With talents both musical and artistic, and looks remarkable enough to set any red-blooded young man after her hand in marriage, Georgina evinced no interest in anything but nursing. She cared not a whit for clothes, jewelry, social diversions; instead, she had demanded, persuaded, cajoled and virtually blackmailed him into agreeing to this further nonsense. As if nursing the physically sick were not enough, Georgina must now insist on caring for those poor mad souls at the Retreat. With her background, he would have supposed such a place to be abhorrent to her, but her letters were full of compassion for her patients, and praise for the Quaker staff. Looking at Georgina now as she strode so disapprovingly beside him, Robert could imagine her marrying some dour Quaker doctor, and producing serious Quaker children. The thought depressed him.

But at least, he told himself, apart from her delicate colouring, she was nothing like Charlotte, and that was something to be eternally thankful for. Once, he had been horribly afraid that Georgina would turn out like her mother, but there seemed little fear of that now. Unconventional she might be, and even obsessive when it came to her vocation, but his daughter was also warm and affectionate, which was something Charlotte had never been.

Now her mother was dead, Robert had ensured that she would inherit most of Charlotte’s wealth. That is, most of what was left. It never failed to astonish him how much had gone in medical bills and nursing home fees, how much had been swallowed by structural repairs to the family home in Waterford, and the house in Dublin. Then, a few years ago, there had been some ill-advised investments, reducing the income, making huge inroads on the capital, so that the remains were pitiful. Although he regretted it, Robert could say with hand on heart that little had been diverted to his own personal use. Never forgetting how cleverly he had been trapped into that farce of a marriage, to him Charlotte’s fortune had always seemed like blood money.

Sighing, he remarked: ‘I thought the news I had to impart was better said. However, I’m glad to see it hasn’t been too distressing for you.’

It was not said unkindly, but he could see the observation hurt her. Saying nothing, she looked away, and he wondered what she was thinking, whether in fact she was more distressed by her mother’s death than he imagined. But it was a difficult topic. Instead he chose what he considered a safer one, telling her she was working too hard, that he had spoken to the Superintendent of the hospital and arranged a week’s leave of absence for her. He felt Georgina’s displeasure at that, the defensiveness which came into being whenever her independence was threatened.

As they climbed the hill towards the hospital, he discovered something of her thoughts, and they were at such a tangent to what might have been expected that Robert was taken aback.

‘You won’t go back to the cottage, will you?’

‘What? Tonight? No, of course not.’

‘Tonight, tomorrow, anytime,’ she said tersely. ‘Don’t go back, please.’

Astonished by her temerity, Robert stopped. ‘Why ever not?’

‘You know why. It’s not fair — to any of them. Not after all these years.’

‘Georgina,’ he said heavily, ‘it’s my business, not yours, and I’ll thank you not to interfere. You have no right…’

‘I have every right!’ she declared with force. ‘They mean as much to me as they do to you. Probably more, if truth be known. I was curling with embarrassment for Edward this afternoon – and while you may not have noticed, Liam was watching you like a hawk!’

‘Was he, by God? I didn’t realize...’

‘No,’ came the quick reply, ‘you were too taken up with Louisa. You might be free, Daddy, but she’s not!’

Guilty colour flooded his face. Aware of it, Robert took refuge in anger. ‘Watch your tongue, miss!’

Georgina shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. But if I don’t remind you, Daddy, who will?’

That unexpected maturity startled him, as did the power of her observation. Momentarily humbled by it, he squeezed her hand. ‘Do I need such reminders?’

‘Not usually,’ she conceded, ‘but this time it’s important.’

‘In that case, I’ll try to remember it.’

A porter opened the gate for them, and Robert walked with his daughter up the drive. It was a fine house, he thought, with a mellow, comfortable air to it, more like a gentleman’s country residence than a hospital. Surprising, since the place had been built specifically to house the mentally ill, and was less than half a mile from the edge of town. From the outside it was not unlike that other place in Ireland where Charlotte had been confined for the past fifteen years, but its interior was different. Here there were no nuns in rustling black robes, no coloured plaster saints, and the fine paintings which graced the Retreat’s walls would not have been out of place in Robert’s Dublin home. The staff were approachable too; pleasant, ordinary people, with no great air of piety.

Robert’s chief difficulty was distinguishing one from another, for as Georgina explained, rank, both social and authoritative, went unstressed and unadvertised. Faced with an array of doors without name or number, it was a mystery to him how people found their way about. Used to the clear-cut structure of army life, he wondered also how order was kept so effectively. The principle of mutual respect, as explained by his daughter, sounded a fine aim, but in his experience human failings generally made mincemeat of such ideals.

That it worked here, however, had been obvious to Robert that morning as the Superintendent showed him round. And in reading the words of its founder, that the Retreat should be a place in which the unhappy might obtain refuge, he was reminded of similar words spoken by the Mother Superior of that obscure little order of nursing nuns in Ireland. Only after remarking on that to his daughter, did Robert learn that the Irish doctor in charge had spent a considerable amount of time at the Quaker hospital. Influenced by its success, he had gone on to spread those principles elsewhere.

How strange, he thought, as he saw Georgina to her door, that so many things came full circle, and that the line should so often begin and end with York. Leaving her, he stood for a moment outside, on the crest of the hill on which the hospital was built, gazing out over the darkening grounds. On one side he could see the Minster’s towers, catching the last residue of light from the west, while below him, beyond grounds and grassy strays, he could just make out the Barracks. A few lights were twinkling there, reminding him with sudden, but not unwelcome nostalgia, of his own tour of duty there.

Savouring the memory and its banishment of the twenty years between, for a moment he was thirty again, impulsive and hot-blooded, and with Charlotte on his mind, just a little crazy, too. Living too hard, drinking too much, searching for a panacea which always eluded him. And then, unexpectedly, at that little hotel on Gillygate, he had met Louisa, and she had changed everything.

Not materially, of course. That travesty of a marriage did not go away, nor did it cease to plague him, but Louisa had banished its morbid fascination. Once free of that, Robert’s life had regained its balance, become bearable, even enjoyable at times. He supposed, looking back, that it should have gone no further, yet even under the closest examination, he could not see where he had forced the issue. He had put his situation honestly before her, and she had rejected him; and taking the honourable path, he had stayed away.

Fate, however, seemed to have had other plans in store. Never, if he lived to be ninety, would he forget that summer’s evening – so like this one! – when Louisa had made that unexpected visit to his lodgings at Fulford. That, for him, was where it had really begun, the point where honour and pain and loneliness assumed the aspect of unwanted baggage on life’s hard road. Having abandoned them, he had set out, quite deliberately, to take her.

With all he knew now, and all that had happened between, Robert would not have changed those two years, even if he could. Like a many-faceted jewel, that time stood out, its dark depths and shafts of light still glowing in his memory. Nothing, since, had matched it.

It was all very well, he thought, for Georgina to tell him what he must and must not do. She knew too little, and her perspective was different. Seeing Louisa again was a revelation for which he had been unprepared. After all these years, he had expected her to seem older, unattractive against the picture he held in his heart. He should have known better. The warmth of her smile did not change, nor the light in her eyes, and she had matured with grace. Yes, he thought, smiling into the darkness, Louisa Elliott was still a lovely woman, natural and artless as ever; but that had always been her attraction.

Wanting to see her again, he knew he would return. Next time, however, he would not make the mistake of calling when the family were gathered. Next time, he would ensure that he saw her alone.