Digby sat at the breakfast table tucking into a large plate of scrambled eggs on toast, crispy bacon and fried tomatoes garnished with chives. The ball had been a great success and even though he had had little to do with the organization of the event itself, he had had a significant amount to do with the building of the castle. Having initially shied away from a project he had believed both financially suicidal and conceptually foolhardy, he had eventually succumbed to the allure of recapturing the past and inveigled his way into the plans by way of large and frequent cheques. After all, hadn’t those summers at Castle Deverill been the most enchanted weeks of his life? How he had envied Bertie and Rupert for growing up in this magical place. He had felt like a poor relation. Now his grandchildren would grow up here and he could live vicariously through them. Deverill Rising was one thing, Castle Deverill quite another: the history, the prestige, the sheer wonder of the place. He shovelled a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed with relish. Beatrice, who could read her husband’s mind, smiled at him from the other end of the table.
He was enjoying his cup of tea and reading the Irish Times when Celia flew into the room. ‘Papa, last night was a triumph! I didn’t sleep a wink!’
‘It was a great success, my dear. You should be very proud of yourself,’ he said, lifting his eyes momentarily off the page to savour his daughter’s beaming face. ‘You were the most gracious hostess.’
‘Everyone admired the castle!’ she gushed. ‘Everyone complimented the decoration.’
‘And everyone admired you,’ her mother added with a smile.
‘Oh, Mama, if I was any happier I would burst,’ she said. ‘Truly, I have never been so full of joy.’
‘I think you’re still full of champagne,’ said Digby dryly, turning the page.
‘In which case, you must put something else into your stomach,’ said Beatrice.
Celia went to the antique walnut sideboard, bought at auction at Christie’s with the help of Boysie, who worked there, and helped herself to scrambled eggs and tomatoes.
A moment later Harry wandered in, ashen-faced with bloodshot eyes beneath which purple shadows shone like bruises. ‘Somebody had a wild night,’ said Celia with a chuckle, but Harry barely managed a smile.
‘Good morning,’ he said, trying hard to be jovial. ‘I’m afraid I am a little worse for wear.’
‘Darling, come and sit down and have a cup of tea and some toast. You’ll feel much better with something in your stomach,’ said Beatrice. ‘You do look pale,’ she added as he pulled out the chair beside her. She patted his hand with her podgy, bejewelled one and smiled sympathetically. ‘I suppose one must deduce that a hangover is the result of a highly successful party,’ she said softly.
‘Quite,’ Harry agreed, reflecting quietly on the unsuccessful way it had ended.
It wasn’t long before Boysie appeared with Deirdre. The two of them looked as bright and fresh as if they had enjoyed an early night and a brisk morning walk. ‘What a delightful party, Celia,’ said Boysie, sitting beside her. ‘Only two bores on the guest list and I managed to avoid both!’
‘Oh, do tell me who they are and I’ll make sure I sit you between them next year,’ said Celia.
‘I couldn’t possibly be so indiscreet,’ Boysie replied with a smile. He caught Harry’s eye, but swiftly turned away. ‘Can I help you to some breakfast, darling?’ he asked Deirdre. As Boysie went to the sideboard, Charlotte wandered into the room, her face as white as a duck’s egg. Beatrice looked from Charlotte to Harry and realized that their pallor had nothing to do with a hangover.
After breakfast Harry managed to talk to Boysie alone. They stood on the terrace in the warm summer sunshine while a small army of servants cleared away the debris from the night before. Boysie lit a cigarette. Harry stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands buried in his trouser pockets. ‘Did you want to get caught, Harry?’ he asked and Harry recoiled from the hard tone of Boysie’s voice.
‘No . . . I mean, of course not.’ But he wasn’t so sure.
‘Damned foolish to stumble in on your wife like that. She looks none too pleased about it this morning.’
‘She won’t say anything,’ he said quickly.
‘She’d better not.’
‘She’s not speaking to me, though.’
‘That’s no surprise. It’s one thing betraying your wife with another woman but quite another with a man. Poor girl. She looked as if she’d been shot in the heart.’
‘She had been, I suppose,’ said Harry. He sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘What a God-awful mess.’
Boysie looked at him and his expression softened. ‘What are you going to do, old boy?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry.
‘Nothing?’
‘There’s nothing I can do. I’ll wait to see what she wants to do.’
‘See you kicked from here to eternity, I should imagine.’ Boysie chuckled and flicked ash onto the York stone at his feet.
‘I hope not,’ said Harry. He swallowed nervously. ‘I’m hoping she’ll understand.’
‘Celia would understand but Charlotte is not Celia. She’s a sheep, Harry. Sheep follow the crowd and I’m afraid the crowd don’t think very highly of homosexuality. You had better hope, no, you had better pray that she doesn’t tell her family.’ He dragged on his cigarette. ‘Come on, let’s go and find Celia.’ But Harry knew that Celia would be no help at all. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming desire to talk to Kitty.
‘I’m going to take a walk, old boy. I think some exercise will do me good.’ And he set off across the gardens in the direction of the White House.
Kitty was sitting on the lawn with two-year-old Florence making daisy chains when Harry appeared at the foot of the drive, red-faced from his brisk walk. He strode through the gate and walked up the hill to meet her. ‘Harry!’ she shouted and waved. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Harry took off his straw hat and sat down in the shade of the apple tree that sheltered the little girl from the sun. ‘Splendid party last night, wasn’t it,’ she said, but her eyes betrayed her struggle to find anything positive about the newly completed castle.
‘You’re finding it hard too?’ he asked.
‘Very,’ she conceded. ‘I feel terrible admitting that, but I know I can speak plainly to you.’
‘You can,’ he said. ‘My, how Florence has grown.’ He ran his hand down the child’s flaxen hair. ‘She’s the image of her father, isn’t she?’ he observed.
‘Yes, she is,’ Kitty agreed, suffering a stab of pain as Jack O’Leary fought his way to the surface of her mind, only to be plunged back to the bottom by the superior force of her will. ‘She’s like Robert in every way and he dotes on her.’
‘Where’s JP?’
‘Riding. He’s as obsessed as I was. There’s no separating him from his pony!’ She laughed. ‘And he’s a daredevil too. He’s afraid of nothing. He’s already riding out with the hounds. Papa is very proud. JP’s a natural horseman. As for Florence . . .’ She sighed and looked tenderly on her daughter. ‘We shall see.’
‘Will you walk with me, Kitty?’ Harry asked suddenly.
Kitty detected the tension in her brother’s voice and sat up keenly. ‘Of course.’ She called for Elsie and when the nanny appeared to look after Florence, Kitty and Harry set off down the hill towards the coastline.
‘What is it, Harry?’ she asked.
He replaced his hat and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you remember that time when you found me . . .’ He hesitated, unable to articulate the words.
‘And Joseph,’ she said helpfully.
‘Yes.’ He looked down at his feet as they paced over the grass. ‘I loved Joseph.’
‘I know you did,’ said Kitty. She glanced at him and frowned. ‘You don’t love Charlotte, do you?’
‘I’m fond of her,’ he conceded and Kitty sensed what he was trying so hard to say. Her heart filled with tenderness and she slipped her hand around his arm and moved closer.
‘I know that Joseph loved you back. I remember the look of utter hopelessness on his face when you left to return to the Front. I saw him up at the window. He was like a ghost. I then realized that he hadn’t been simply comforting you that night. At the end of the war, when you came home and you made him your valet, I knew why. I’ve never judged you, Harry. It’s not conventional to love another man, but I love you just the way you are.’ Harry’s throat constricted and he blinked to relieve the stinging in his eyes.
They reached the end of the path where the grass gave way to white sand and headed off up the beach. Seabirds glided on the wind and dropped out of the sky to peck at small creatures left behind by the tide. The ocean was benign beneath the clear skies, the waves breaking gently and rhythmically onto the sand. Harry placed his hand on top of Kitty’s and squeezed it. ‘Thank you, dearest Kitty. You and I have shared many secrets over the years. I’m now going to ask you to keep another and to advise me how to proceed, because I’ve done a terrible thing.’ Kitty nodded. She dreaded what he was about to tell her. ‘I have been having an affair with a man for years. Ever since I came to London.’ He glanced anxiously at her for her reaction.
‘Go on,’ she said encouragingly.
‘I knew I had to do my duty and marry. I’ve given Charlotte two children and if the shock of discovering me and this man last night doesn’t bring on a miscarriage, I’ll have given her three.’
Kitty stopped walking. ‘Oh Harry.’ She let her hands fall at her sides. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I didn’t realize she had retired early. The bedroom was dark. I pulled Boysie inside . . .’
Kitty gasped. ‘Boysie Bancroft?’
‘Yes, didn’t I say?’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I should have guessed. The two of you are inseparable.’
‘Charlotte turned on the light and saw us.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t say anything. Boysie left as fast as he could. I tried to comfort her but she just put her head under the pillow and sobbed. She sobbed all night. She still hasn’t spoken to me.’ He raised his palms to the sky. ‘For the love of God tell me what I should do.’
Kitty began to walk again. This time her pace quickened and her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Harry strode beside her without speaking, hoping that she’d find the answer there in the sand. At length she stopped and turned to face him again. ‘Charlotte loves you, Harry, so this betrayal will have cut her very deeply. Firstly, you have to give her time to absorb it. She’s made two terrible discoveries: one, that you’ve been having an affair, and two, that it’s with a man, which as you well know is against the law and punishable by imprisonment. She will be wondering whether you ever loved her, whether you only married her to do your duty. She’ll be wondering whether you hated every minute of making love to her. She’ll be feeling bruised, humiliated, hurt and worried. When she comes to terms with those two discoveries, she will talk to you.’
‘What will she say?’
‘She’ll either ask for a divorce or go public and you’ll have to endure a scandal that will put my own scandal with JP into the shade. Mama will probably have a seizure, of course, but that’ll be the least of your worries.’
‘God help me,’ he groaned.
‘Or—’
‘Or?’ he asked eagerly. ‘What’s the or?’
‘Or she’ll forgive you.’
‘Why on earth would she do that?’
‘Because she loves you, Harry. But you must persuade her that you will give up Boysie. You’ll have to convince her that it was a moment of madness. Blame it on the champagne. Tell her you love her. You love the children. You’re a family man and you’ll do nothing to jeopardize your family. You can do that, can’t you?’
‘I can’t give up Boysie,’ he gasped, horrified.
‘You’ll have to. It’s either Charlotte or Boysie. You can’t have both, Harry.’
‘But I love him.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘I know you do. But sometimes you have to give up the person you love for the greater good.’ Kitty’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘It’s hard, it’s almost impossible, but it can be done.’
Harry stared at her, unaware that she was speaking about herself. He hadn’t anticipated having to give up Boysie when he had dragged him into his bedroom. He had willed himself to get caught only to release him from the burden of lying, not to force him to sacrifice the one person he loved above all others. What a fool he had been. He grabbed his sister by the arms and thrust his head onto her shoulder. As he wept he didn’t notice that she wept also, for Jack O’Leary and her own desolate heart.
When Harry returned to the castle he found Charlotte and Deirdre playing croquet with Boysie and Celia. The Shrubs were strolling around the gardens in floral dresses and sunhats with Lord Hunt, who held his hands behind his back and was listening attentively to both. Laurel and Hazel had made a great effort with their hair and make-up and the results were surprising – they each looked far younger than their years. Digby, Archie, Bertie and Ronald were playing a men’s four in long white tennis trousers and V-neck sweaters while Beatrice and Grace watched them from the bench, or at least, pretended to watch, sipping from tall glasses of mint and lemonade.
‘Papa is leading the Shrubs a merry dance,’ confided Grace, watching the unlikely trio. ‘He’s a terrible old rogue and I fear Hazel and Laurel have been totally taken in. I feel very bad about it.’
‘Oh, don’t feel bad,’ Beatrice replied. ‘He’s giving them such a lot of pleasure. I don’t think they’ve ever had such attention from a handsome man like your father.’
‘He’s enjoying himself immensely, but it’ll be disastrous when he bores of the game, which he will. The minute it’s no longer fun he’ll move on to someone else. I know him. My mother was an exceptionally tolerant woman.’
‘I’m sure they take him with a pinch of salt,’ said Beatrice, watching Digby prepare to serve.
‘They absolutely don’t, Beatrice. They’re smitten. They’re like a pair of debutantes. I hope they don’t fight over him. That would be dreadful.’
‘Good shot, darling!’ Beatrice clapped as Digby aced his cousin. ‘They’re grown-ups, Grace. I’m sure they’re perfectly capable of looking after themselves, and each other.’
‘I hope you’re right, but I fear the worst.’
As Harry approached, Charlotte glared at him from her position beside the third hoop. Boysie watched them both warily while Celia, in a long diaphanous ivory skirt and blouse, cloche hat and pearls, lined up her ball and swung her mallet. Deirdre, who had tried and failed to find out what their fight had been about, stood beside her husband, pleased that her own marriage was free of that sort of drama. ‘Harry, I’m playing so badly, why don’t you come and give me a hand,’ said Celia. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’ she asked the others.
Charlotte dropped her mallet. ‘No, he can take my place. I’ve had enough.’ She began to stride off towards the castle, taking her sulk with her.
‘Oh dear,’ said Celia, watching her go. ‘I was never that bad-tempered when I was pregnant.’
‘Shall I run after her?’ Harry asked uncertainly, but he was afraid to hear what she might say. He glanced at Boysie and for a moment their eyes locked. How could he give him up? he thought desperately. He would rather be dead than live without Boysie.
‘No, don’t break up the game,’ said Celia, whose self-obsession had ensured that she missed the subtle tensions that coursed between certain members of the group. ‘Your turn, Deirdre. Leave Charlotte, Harry darling, she’ll feel better after a little nap. She’s probably just tired after last night, I know I am and I’m not carrying a child.’
Harry glanced at the French doors that led from the terrace into the drawing room but his wife had disappeared. Later, when he at last plucked up the courage to talk to her, he found her lying on her bed, staring into space with a miserable, defeated look on her face. He closed the door behind him and approached her. He saw her body stiffen like a cat’s, but he sat on the edge of the mattress regardless. ‘Darling, we have to talk about this,’ he began, feeling sick to the stomach with nerves. He knitted his fingers and stared into them as if working out how to unknit them. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. When she didn’t reply he cleared his throat and tried to remember what Kitty had told him. ‘I love you, Charlotte. I know that you won’t believe me, after . . . after what you saw last night. I promise you, it was a moment of madness. The champagne, the excitement, the nostalgia, I wasn’t in my right mind. I wasn’t myself and I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed and I beg for your forgiveness.’
Now she turned her head and looked at him. Her face was impassive. He longed to know what she was thinking. ‘Do you love me, Harry?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Yes, my darling, I do. I love you, I love our children, I love our family life. I’ll do anything not to put in jeopardy all those things that I love so dearly.’
She stared at him for a long moment. Her lips were thin and tight, her eyes large and round and very shiny. ‘I cannot forgive you or Boysie. I’m ashamed on your behalf. What I saw you doing was unnatural.’ She turned her face the other way as her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I won’t tell anyone. I’d rather die than tell anyone. But you won’t see Boysie again, will you? You can’t . . . after . . . after . . .’ She began to cry hysterically.
Harry slipped off his shoes and lay on the bed beside her, putting his arm around her and drawing her close. How could he exist if Boysie was no longer part of his life? ‘I want you to take me back to London,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be here another minute. Say what you will, but you have to take me back to London. We’ll spend the rest of the summer in Norfolk with Mama and Papa and you’ll put Boysie and this shaming episode behind you.’ She lifted his hand off her pregnant belly. ‘And I don’t want you to touch me.’
‘Charlotte,’ he gasped.
‘I mean it, Harry. I need time. I can’t easily forget what I saw. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’
‘It was a moment of madness.’
She turned her head and her expression was hard and sharp. ‘And what if I hadn’t been here? What then? What would you have done?’ Her body shook as she began to sob again. ‘What would you have done, Harry?’
‘Nothing. I would have done nothing. It was a kiss. That’s all. A kiss.’ She turned away brusquely, making it clear that she didn’t believe him.
Harry explained to Celia that Charlotte was suffering so much with this pregnancy that she wanted to spend the rest of the summer with her parents. ‘Jolly bad sport,’ said Celia sulkily. ‘She’s ruined our summer. The first summer we’ve all been together here at Castle Deverill in nearly ten years. This was meant to be special and she’s gone and ruined it.’ She folded her arms crossly. ‘Boysie won’t be happy you’re going. He’ll be furious too. You’re breaking up the party.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
Then Celia’s face brightened. ‘I know, she can take the children to Norfolk and you can stay here. Oh, do stay, Harry darling, it’ll be just like the old days. If we could get Deirdre to go with her it really would be marvellous!’
‘No,’ said Harry firmly. ‘I can’t do that to her.’
‘Well, you’re a spoilsport too and I’ll find it very hard to forgive you.’
‘But you will, of course.’
‘Of course. Next time leave her at home. I don’t think she likes Ireland anyway.’
The car was packed and waiting on the gravel with Celia’s chauffeur. Harry and Charlotte said their goodbyes, managing to put on a convincing show of unity. Everyone was sorry to see them go, but none was sorrier to be going than Harry. Outside at last he helped his wife into the back seat, tucking her skirt in carefully before closing the door. Then something made him look up to the window above the front door. Boysie was standing on the landing, gazing down on him with a forlorn expression on his face. Harry’s stomach gave a little flip as he remembered what Kitty had told him about Joseph. Boysie looked like a ghost too. His face was white behind the glass, his eyes like two black holes, resonating with sorrow. A lump lodged itself in Harry’s throat and he remained a moment, gazing up, wanting to wave but knowing he couldn’t, knowing that if he did he’d break down and cry like a boy. He wrenched his eyes away and walked slowly round to the other side of the car. As he opened the door he glanced up again. Boysie was still there. His hand was now spread on the small rectangular pane and he had dropped his forehead onto it so that his breath misted the glass in a cloudy stain. Harry inhaled deeply and forced himself onto the back seat. He slammed the door then he put his finger in his mouth and bit down hard. If he gave in to tears Charlotte would know the truth: that he loved Boysie most of all and always would.