said comfortably, ‘We know who we mean, don’t we? And you haven’t even met my mother.’
Elinor stretched both arms up and laced her fingers together against the high blue arc of the sky. ‘Talking of mothers—’
‘Did you know,’ Edward said, interrupting, ‘that when you talk, the end of your nose moves up and down very slightly? It’s adorable.’
Elinor suppressed a smile. She lowered her arms. ‘Talking of mothers,’ she said again.
‘Oh, OK then. Mothers. What about them?’
‘Mine is so sweet, really—’
‘Oh, I know.’
‘—but she’s driving me insane. Insane. Almost every day she goes off to look at some house or other. She must be on every agent’s books in East Sussex.’
Edward put out a tentative finger and touched the end of Elinor’s nose. He said, ‘But that’s good. That’s positive.’
Elinor tried to ignore his finger. ‘Yes, of course it is, in theory. But she’s looking at stuff we can’t begin to afford. They may technically be cottages but they’ve got five bedrooms and three bathrooms and one even has a swimming pool in a conservatory thing. I ask you.’
‘But—’
Elinor turned her head to look at him, dislodging his finger. ‘Ed, we can’t actually even afford a garden shed. But she won’t listen.’
‘They don’t.’
‘You mean mothers?’
‘Mothers,’ Edward said with emphasis. ‘They do not listen.’
‘You mean yours won’t listen to you either?’
Edward rolled on his back. ‘Nobody listens.’
‘Oh, come on.’
He said, ‘I applied to Amnesty International and they said I wasn’t qualified for anything they had on offer. Same with Oxfam. And the only reason for having anything to do with the law is that Human Rights Watch might – might – give me a hearing with the right bits of paper in my hand.’
Elinor waited a moment, and then she said, ‘What are you good at, do you think?’
Edward picked a pebble out of the shingle beside him and looked at it. Then he said, in quite a different, more confident tone of voice, ‘Organising things. I don’t mean how many cases of champagne will two hundred people drink, like Robert. I mean quite – serious things. I can get things done. Actually.’
‘Like today.’
‘Well …’
‘Today,’ Elinor said, ‘you drove well, you parked without fuss, you got the bathroom people to find the right taps, you were firm with that useless girl at the box office over Fanny’s tickets, you insisted on the right wallpaper books, you knew just where to get the best fish and chips and exactly where to be on the beach to get out of the wind.’
‘Well – yes. Only very small things …’
‘But significant. And – and symptomatic.’
Edward raised himself on one elbow and looked at her. ‘Thank you, Elinor.’
She grinned at him. ‘My pleasure.’
He looked suddenly sober. He said, in a more serious voice, ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Why? Where are you going?’
He glanced away. Then he raised the arm holding the pebble and threw it towards the wall at the back of the beach. ‘I’m not going, I’m being chucked out.’
‘Chucked out? By whom?’
‘By Fanny.’
Elinor sat up slowly. ‘Oh.’
‘Yes. Oh.’
‘You know why?’
‘Yes,’ Edward said, looking straight at her. ‘And so do you.’
Elinor stared at her raised knees. She said, ‘Where’ll you go?’
‘Devon, I should think.’
‘Why Devon?’
‘I know people there. I was there at the crammer, remember? I can always hang out there. In fact, I can ask, in Devon, if there’s anywhere for you to rent, shall I? It’s bound to be cheaper, in Devon.’
Elinor said sadly, ‘We can’t go to Devon.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s too far. Margaret’s school, Marianne going up to the Royal College of Music, me finishing my training …’
‘OK then,’ Edward said, ‘but I’ll still ask. You never know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Ellie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you miss me?’
She didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t know.’
He moved slightly, so that he was kneeling beside her. ‘Please try to.’
‘OK.’
‘Ellie …’
She said nothing. He leaned forward and put his hand on her knees.
‘Ellie, even though I probably taste of grease and vinegar, would it be OK if I did what I’ve wanted to do ever since I first saw you, and kissed you?’
And now, weeks later, here he was, back at Norland and getting out of the kind of car that Fanny would hate to see on her gravel sweep: an elderly Ford Sierra with a peeling speed stripe painted down its dilapidated side.
Margaret waved wildly from the kitchen window. ‘Edward! Edward!’
He looked up and waved back, his face breaking into a smile. Then he ducked back into the car to turn off some deafening music, and came loping across the drive and then the grass to where Margaret was leaning and waving.
‘Cool car!’ she shouted.
‘Not bad, for two hundred and fifty quid!’
She put her arms out so that she could loop them round his neck and he could then pull her out of the window on to the grass. He set her on her feet. She said, ‘Has Fanny seen you?’
‘No,’ Edward said, ‘I thought she could see the car first.’
‘Good thinking, buster.’
‘Mags,’
