‘I don’t know. Were you?’ She paused for a moment, searching Emma’s face. ‘Pete and I have never had an affair, you know. There is nothing like that between us.’ She smiled at the waitress who had brought her glass.
Emma looked down at the table. ‘I never thought there was,’ she said quickly. Too quickly. Had her thoughts been that easy to read?
Diane reached over and picked up the menu. ‘There is no time for that kind of relationship in the office, Emma. You should know that. Incestuous though the City is with everyone knowing everyone, it just wouldn’t work. Not for long. With your husband and your brother working there you should know that.’ There was a moment’s silence as she studied the menu, then she looked up. ‘Paul is a workaholic like Peter, I suspect, isn’t he?’ The question was very casual.
Emma laughed. ‘I suppose he is; I try and avoid my brother where possible. We don’t get on.’
Diane played with the stem of her glass. ‘I had dinner with Paul and Clare on Saturday.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘It was marvellous. Clare went into some sort of trance in the kitchen, or that is what Henry thinks – anyway she disappeared for a long, long time, and dinner was an hour late. Paul nearly had a fit because the Beatties were there, and Clare was unrepentant and told Lady Beattie she was someone of no importance.’ She chuckled again at the memory as she sipped her wine. ‘Paul and Clare don’t get on, do they?’
Emma frowned. ‘I think they’re going through a rough patch,’ she said cautiously. She glanced at Diane. During the week the latter wore no make-up at the office – her face was ostentatiously naked, the lashes thin and fair, almost invisible. It made her look very young and naive. Emma wasn’t fooled. ‘I doubt if Paul would ever have an affair,’ she said gently. ‘He really isn’t keen on women at all.’
‘But he’s not queer?’
‘Of course he’s not queer. But he is single-minded; and cold. I was never actually sure why he married Clare.’
‘For her money?’ Diane raised an eyebrow.
‘Perhaps.’ Emma shrugged. ‘Not that she has as much as all that; not as much as people think. Just her lands in Scotland which I suppose might be worth a fortune. I don’t know. I do know Paul was furious when she didn’t inherit any money as such.’ She paused, frowning suddenly. Had he just married Clare for her money? Was that the reason Clare was so unhappy now? ‘Clare is a very attractive woman,’ she went on, half thoughtfully. ‘I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t just have fallen in love with her. She was all right, was she, after her’ – she hesitated – ‘her trance?’
‘Right as rain. In fact she was more animated than I’ve ever seen her. She and Paul –’ Diane paused, choosing her words with care. ‘Do you think their marriage is over?’
‘No.’ Emma was suddenly resentful of the questions. ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t. They’ll be fine. All they need is a bit of time to get over their disappointment about not being able to have children.’
‘I didn’t know they couldn’t have children.’ Diane raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m sure they don’t broadcast the fact. And don’t you, either. I shouldn’t really have told you.’
‘Oh come on. I’m a family friend.’ Diane sat back in her chair and crossed her long legs uncomfortably under the small table. ‘Besides, who am I going to tell? I don’t know anyone who would be interested.’
‘Would you like me to get anything for you when I’m in Ipswich this afternoon, Mrs Royland?’ Sarah appeared in the doorway of the drawing room so suddenly that Clare jumped.
She pushed back the pile of unopened letters on her writing desk – the invitations to charity events, the pleas for money, at least two demands that she join fund-raising committees; she didn’t have to open them to know what they were. She glanced out of the window at the hazy garden and sighed. The sun was just breaking through the mist, shimmering on the copper and russet leaves of the chestnuts in the drive. Clare sighed. She stretched her arms up above her head. ‘You know, it’s so beautiful today, I think I might come with you. I could do with a change of scene.’
Sarah frowned. ‘It wouldn’t really be very easy, Mrs Royland. I …’ she hesitated. ‘I’ve so many different things to do. But I’d be happy to pick anything up for you.’
Clare bit her lip, trying not to feel rejected, trying to fight down the feeling of desolation which threatened to overwhelm her. Paul had left for London that morning, before it was light. He had slept in her bed, but he hadn’t touched her. If Sarah went out and left her in the house alone, the loneliness would return, and with it the need to fill the emptiness with daydreams. She stood up. She would go too. She must. Suddenly she was afraid, terrified of the silent rooms. She turned to follow Sarah into the hall, but as she reached the door, the phone rang. With a pleading glance at Sarah’s departing form she turned back and picked it up.
‘Clare? It’s Chloe. My dear, I had to ring you. What on earth have you been getting up to?’ Her sister-in-law sounded breathless with excitement.
Clare sat down again, making a determined effort to steady herself, her fingers once more, automatically, idly, turning over the letters on the desk. Even without the sound of car tyres on the gravel outside she had known Sarah would take the chance to go without her. Her heart sank. Another afternoon alone in the house; and probably a whole evening after it, and then the night, all to be got through somehow. She sighed, fighting back the fear.
‘Clare, are you there?’ Chloe sounded indignant. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but Geoffrey is praying for you!’
‘Praying for me?’ Clare’s attention snapped back to the phone.
‘He’s desperately worried about you and I thought I’d better warn you, he’s going to come up and see you.’
‘What on earth for?’ Indignantly Clare stood up. She shuffled all the envelopes into the waste bin, and stood staring out at the grass where a blackbird was standing, head cocked to one side, intently watching a patch of daisies. ‘If it’s to do with my inability to have a baby, it’s a bit late for prayers.’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘Unless one believes in miracles.’
‘Oh, Clare.’ For a moment Chloe was silent. ‘My dear, I was so sorry to hear about that, and it’s never too late to pray about something so important, but that wasn’t what I meant.’ She sounded deflated.
‘What then?’ Clare picked up the phone and walked to the french windows. She pushed them open and stepped out on to the terrace. The sun was warm on her head, the garden still.
‘Emma came to see us last weekend, just before Geoff went off to his conference. She came to talk about her and Pete. You know they’re having problems with their marriage because Peter is away so much. Well, Geoff took her off into his study and’ – Chloe’s voice took on a hollow ring supposed to denote awe – ‘they talked for ages.’
‘So?’
‘They talked about you.’
‘Me?’
‘It took me hours to wangle it out of him later. Clare, you must be doing something truly dreadful! Emma only mentioned it casually at first. Geoff said she didn’t seem worried. He said she didn’t realise what you were up to. So, what are you
