Page 129 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

He took her in his arms again. They were silent, her head on his chest, his chin resting on her hair. He said, ‘Will they have worried about you?’

‘It’s only the servants. They’ll think I’ve stayed with friends.’ The staff at the house in Berkeley Square were not old family retainers, concerned for her well-being. But the question had started up a train of thought. She felt it in his body, that he was thinking too.

‘You mustn’t feel guilty,’ he said at last.

‘No. You mustn’t either,’ she said.

‘It wasn’t wrong. It was . . .’ He didn’t seem to be able to finish.

She thought. It was wrong, of course. They had always taken such care that no-one else was hurt. They must go on doing so. It was wrong, but it was also right. ‘It was a balancing of the books,’ she said.

‘Oh, my love,’ he said brokenly. ‘My only love.’ He kissed her wildly, and she responded, and thought, There it is, the grief that always, in art, seems to come coupled with love. The lovers are separated, the loved one dies, it all ends in tragedy and a mighty crashing chord of desolation.

She held him tightly, and said, ‘We had this. No-one can take that away. We will always remember this.’

‘I love you,’ he said.

‘I love you too,’ she said. And that seemed to be all of it.

The monde was not about, only people going to work, heads down and hurrying in the damp October air. The postman in his red collar and peaked cap was working his way up the street. Two doors down, the milkman’s horse stood with its forefeet on the kerb, fragments of its breakfast chaff still caught in its whiskers, contemplating eternity. A dog trotted busily by, and glanced up at them without interest. Reality going about its business, as if no earth-shattering event had taken place. Nothing had changed, and everything had.

A café was open on the corner of Hay Hill, and they went in and had coffee and toast, drawing no curiosity from the proprietor or the other customers. Ladies and gentlemen breakfasting after a night out were not uncommon. They sat close and did not talk, too aware of the approaching end, savouring these last drops from the bottom of the cup.

Berkeley Square was just round the corner. When they quit the café, he said, ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’

But ‘Better not,’ she said. They might be spotted and recognised. And she needed a few moments to compose herself before she reached the house. Her husband’s house.

‘So, then – goodbye?’ he said. He held out his hand.

She took it, and felt the warmth, the shape of his palm and his fingers that she would know for ever. ‘Goodbye,’ she said.

She walked away, and forced herself not to look back. There was such a pain in her throat she could not swallow.

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Might I have a word, my lord?’ Afton said. His lordship had been looking more than usually grim since his return from London, but Afton knew he should not put things off any longer. There was a full diary of shooting events, and then in November the hunting would start. He ought to have said something in Scotland, but somehow or other the right moment hadn’t arisen.

‘Can’t it wait?’ Giles said impatiently. When a servant said Might I have a word, my lord it always meant trouble, and he had enough on his mind at the moment.

‘If you would be so kind,’ Afton insisted.

‘Very well. Out with it, man,’ he added, as Afton hesitated.

Afton cleared his throat. ‘When you were so good as to appoint me butler as well as valet, I thought the two roles could be combined. But I have been finding it difficult as the Castle has done so much more entertaining. In short, my lord,’ he hurried on, as Giles’s scowl spurred him, ‘I would be grateful if I could return to being your lordship’s valet, without the other duties.’

‘The dickens!’ Giles exploded. ‘You’re telling me you want me to find a new butler?’

It was a nervous moment. ‘I don’t feel I can give satisfaction in both roles, my lord.’

Giles glared at him. ‘But you want to remain valet?’

‘It is my natural calling, my lord.’ He coughed again. ‘I was never entirely comfortable as butler.’

There was a silence, and Afton made himself stand still, though he was longing to insert a finger and ease his collar.

‘Well,’ said Giles at last, and Afton held his breath, ‘I don’t want to lose you as valet, so I suppose I must find another butler.’ Relief washed over Afton. ‘But it’s a damned nuisance. And a damned expense!’

This last struck Giles as ungenerous even as he said it – actually Afton combining the roles was not the norm and had saved him money.