Was he just making conversation or did the question betoken a special interest? ‘Dancers are notoriously …’ I had been going to say promiscuous, but then it occurred to me that our careless sexual manners might not find favour outside artistic circles ‘… they don’t have much time for passionate emotional involvements.’
Then I remembered that I was – possibly – engaged to Sebastian. Since arriving in Northumberland I hardly thought about him at all, and when I did I was unable to persuade myself to take him at all seriously. He had become a creature of fantasy, a von Rothbart or a Kashchei: sinister, malign, but contained within a world of fantasy, as insubstantial as the plywood of Giselle’s cottage.
I asked Rafe how he was enjoying running the Shottestone estate. Apparently there was a problem with the agent, who had fallen into slipshod ways. Two farms were running at a loss and some of the houses and cottages were in a poor state of repair. Rafe didn’t mention Kingsley, but the omission was like a jagged hole cut out of the picture. He outlined his plans for putting things right. The logs burned themselves into heaps of glowing ash. We had another glass of wine. There was no afternoon rehearsal looming, no impending performance, no criticism to fear, no Sebastian to dread. I had told Rafe that I was eager to return to London, but for the time being I was perfectly content.
‘Do you want a pudding?’
I did but I shook my head. I could feel that my waistband was tighter.
‘Isobel was hoping you’d come up to the house for tea. She’s been shopping in Newcastle all day but she’ll be back by four. I expect she wants to show you what she’s bought.’
‘That’d be lovely.’
‘What shall we do meanwhile? I’d like to show you the old pele tower at Waterbury. I’ve always been fond of the place, though it’s almost a ruin now. But it’s a little way back from the road. I don’t know if you could get there on crutches.’
‘If you don’t mind me being slow, I’d like to see it.’ As we walked to the car, Rafe hovered solicitously at my side in case I should slip on the ice. It was a new experience to be taken care of. ‘Lucky Isobel,’ I said. ‘I suppose money’s no object now she’s marrying a bloated capitalist.’
The remark was intended to be flippant but Rafe’s tone was serious when he said, ‘Is it important to you to marry money? Couldn’t you be happy on a moderate income?’
‘Of course I could. I’ve never had even an adequate one. Actually, I enjoy making something out of nothing and finding-things in junk shops. I don’t suppose I’d like being rich at all. I only said that because … because …’ I paused, not wanting to finish what I’d been going to say.
‘Because it seems to mean so much to Isobel,’ he finished for me. He helped me into the car and stowed the crutches.
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t marry him if she didn’t like him.’
Rafe started up the car. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Well, she doesn’t seem to mind at all that he’s rather ugly. That’s a good sign. Most people – I must admit, including me – put far too much emphasis on looks, which is every bit as superficial as liking money.’
‘Is Conrad Lerner ugly?’ Rafe sounded surprised.
‘She didn’t say quite that. I just assumed that if he was short, fat, bald and with a big nose and enormous feet that he wasn’t exactly Cary Grant. But then Cary Grant’s appeal wasn’t only looks, was it? Conrad’s probably extremely charming. And Isobel says he’s very clever. That’s attractive.’
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