Government, were still in town, serving king and country.
The door opened and a young man, smooth as to clothes, hair and expression, came into the room.
‘The morning newspapers, sir. I’ve marked one or two items for you to look at.’
‘Thank you, Charles,’ Saul said, still gazing out of the window.
Charles coughed, Saul looked around at him. ‘What is it?’
‘The lakes are freezing, so it says in The Times.’
‘The lakes? Which lakes? What are you talking about? Canada? The United States?’
‘Your lake, sir. I thought you would be interested.’
‘My lake?’
‘In Westmoreland.’
‘I’ll have a look at the papers in a minute.’
‘These letters are for you to attend to.’
‘Leave them on the desk.’
‘Will there be anything else?’
‘No, no … Why?’
‘Because if you don’t need me for a while, I’ll go to Downing Street and collect those papers from the Cabinet Office.’
‘Can’t they send a messenger? Oh, very well.’ Saul waited for the door to shut completely, and then bounded to his desk and took up the newspaper. Ignoring trouble in Turkey – dammit, there was always trouble in Turkey – alarming news in from the Far East and the tense situation in Spain, Charles, impudent young ass, had folded the newspaper back to an aerial photograph of snow-covered fells towering over that oh-so-familiar sheet of water, gleaming in icy splendour.
Saul read the caption and the piece that accompanied the photograph. Then he threw the paper down on the desk and went back to the window, his arms folded. He had the odd sensation of being two men, one clad in the black jacket and grey striped trousers of the official world, pale faced, not a sleek hair out of place; the other existing three hundred miles away, wearing tweeds, brown boots and skates on his feet, hair ruffled by the wind, cheeks glowing from the cold.
He reached out for the telephone on his desk and picked up the receiver. ‘Get me Mrs Richardson, please.’
A minute later, the telephone bell shrilled out. ‘Jane? I’m cancelling the Christmas visit to the constituency. We’ll go north. Ring Mama and tell her we’re coming. After the weekend, I think. We’ll drive. I leave all the arrangements to you.’
He replaced the receiver, strode across the room, unhooked his overcoat from the coatstand, put it on, wrapped his sombre scarf into the neck of the coat and, bowler hat in hand, left the room. He travelled swiftly through the outer office. ‘I’ll be back at about, oh, say four,’ he said in passing to the bun-faced woman lodged behind an enormous typewriter. ‘Tell Charles to deal with those papers, no, I can’t be contacted.’
Then he was out in the corridor and walking quickly towards the lifts. He didn’t want to leave London without seeing Mavis.
London, Knightsbridge
The phone rang and rang. Jane Richardson could see, as clearly as though she were there, the telephones sounding their shrill alerts: in the Great Hall, in Rokeby’s pantry, in Henry’s study, in Caroline’s dressing room.
Finally, the phone was picked up in mid-ring, and Jane heard a harsh, French-accented voice say, ‘Hello?’
‘Who is this?’ Jane said, her own voice tart now.
‘Lipp.’
‘Lipp. I might have known. Why are you answering the phone?’
‘There’s no one else to answer it. Is that Mrs Saul?’
How she hated to be called Mrs Saul. ‘Lipp, after all these years you surely know that when you answer the telephone, if you must do so, please respond with the number. Don’t just say, Hello. It’s most unhelpful. One could have been connected to anyone, and I don’t see why you have to answer the telephone. Where is Rokeby? You must know.’ Of course Lipp knew, she always knew where everyone was.
‘Rokeby’s helping Sir Henry with the generator.’
‘Oh, really, it’s too bad.’ Why a man of her father-in-law’s years and dignity, who moreover kept a full staff, felt he had to attend to the generator was beyond her understanding. ‘Go and tell Lady Richardson I would like to speak to her, please.’
There was a clunk as Lipp laid the receiver down; far away in London, Jane could hear the click-clack of Lipp’s heels receding into the distance as her mother-in-law’s maid went upstairs.
Lipp must have left the receiver too close to the edge of the table, for there was a rustling sound and a thump, then more bangs. The receiver dangling on its cord, no doubt, swinging to and fro, and banging against the table leg as it did so. There was a harsh crackle down the line, further bumps and bangs, and then she heard Caroline’s voice.
‘Jane?’
‘Shall I put this one down now, my lady?’ cut in Lipp’s voice.
‘Yes,’ said Jane and Caroline together. Crash.
‘That terrible woman,’ Jane said, under her breath.
‘What did you say? Nothing? I distinctly heard you speak. Never mind. How is Saul?’
‘Perfectly well. He wants us to come to Wyncrag for Christmas.’
Caroline’s crystalline tones came down the line, as clear as though she were standing beside her; Caroline’s voice was like that on the telephone. ‘I was expecting you. When are you coming?’
‘Saul hasn’t decided. He intends to drive down, so he’ll be anxious to get away from London in good time before the Christmas exodus starts. One day next week, I’ll let you know. Perdita breaks up this week, I suppose. Who else will be there?’
‘Edwin wants to persuade Alix to come.’
‘Alix! Good heavens, after all this time? Have you heard from her?’
‘I’ve heard of her, which is quite enough. It seems that she’s fallen into unsuitable company.’
‘Alix is old enough to decide what company is or isn’t suitable for her, Caroline. She’s no longer a child. If you set into her the moment she steps into Wyncrag, you may find she turns straight around and leaves. I would.’
‘I hardly think your opinion on this subject is of any importance.’
Nor was her opinion on anything else, not as far as Caroline was concerned.
‘Besides, I have no expectation
