Page 127 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

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Nina would have preferred not to go alone, but the lecture hall was on Piccadilly, convenient for home, and she didn’t want to miss it, because the subject sounded so interesting.

Two scientists from University College London, Ernest Starling and his brother-in-law William Bayliss, had been investigating pancreatic secretion. They had discovered that whenever food was put into the duodenum, a substance was immediately released into the bloodstream that stimulated the pancreas to secrete. Now they proposed that the body had many other similar systems, and had named the various catalysing substances ‘hormones’, from the Greek meaning ‘setting in motion’. The idea that a chemical signal could be sent from one part of the body to another to control the functions of the distant part was quite novel, and suggested a fascinating new area of biology.

Nina found a good seat halfway back, and one seat in from the aisle. She was reading the programme notes when she noticed from the corner of her eye that someone in the aisle was conducting a sotto-voce conversation with her neighbour, which resulted in his getting up and yielding his seat to the newcomer. She glanced, and then stared, her stomach contracting and the hair rising on her scalp.

Giles gave her a nervous smile. ‘That gentleman most obligingly agreed to move elsewhere.’

‘What are you doing here?’ she managed to say. ‘I thought you were in Scotland.’

‘No, we’ve been back a week. I had to come up on business. I saw you at the entrance, but there were so many people between us I couldn’t get to you. What are you doing here? And alone, moreover.’

‘I was to have come with Lepida Morris. She and I go to lectures together now and then. But she’s not well, and I didn’t want to miss it. Are you interested in pancreatic secretions?’

‘When you put it like that,’ he said, with a smile that made her stomach clench again, ‘not more than in any other subject. But I was in Town and at a loose end, and it sounded interesting.’

‘Aren’t you—’ she began, but at that moment someone on the platform stood up and called for silence, and they had to settle down and listen.

The lecture was absorbing, though Nina found some of the scientific terms difficult, but while she listened with all her intellect, her body was acutely aware of Giles’s presence beside her. He seemed to radiate some magnetism that was as obvious to her as the heat from a furnace when the door is opened. She felt happy, shaken into life, excited as a child on Christmas morning just to be near him. She would not allow herself to think beyond that.

When the lecture ended questions were invited, and since many of the audience seemed to be either medical students, physicians or scientists, the questions were erudite and abstruse. And after that there was a vote of thanks, hearty applause, and finally everyone began to stir and rise and gather their belongings.

Nina, pressed close to Giles as they were carried by the crowd towards the exit, assumed that he would now bid her a polite and regretful farewell and that this exquisite interlude would be over. But when they emerged onto the street, they found that a light but blustery rain had started, and that neither of them had an umbrella.

‘How improvident we are,’ he said, as they edged sideways under the hall’s entrance canopy to allow others behind them to exit.

‘It wasn’t raining before,’ she said indignantly.

‘So I noticed. But have we not learned that English weather is changeable?’

‘Obviously not. Oh dear, it seems wrong to take a cab for such a short journey.’

‘You’d never get one, anyway,’ Giles said, looking at the crowds lining the pavement.

‘At least we can walk together,’ she said hopefully. ‘I suppose you’re staying at your aunt’s house?’

‘No, at Richard’s new place in Bolton Street. He has rented a pied-à-terre, though he’s not there now – he’s at Ashmore. Are you going back directly to Berkeley Square? I suppose you are waited for.’

‘No, Mr Cowling has gone to Leicester on business. He goes home from there, and I join him on Saturday. I had one or two things to do in Town tomorrow.’

They stood in silence for a moment, as occupied cabs swished past, and the few unoccupied ones were snapped up by those nearer the kerb. Then he said, ‘Look here, the rain’s blowing in on us and we’re getting wet anyway. We might as well take the plunge, don’t you think?’

‘I’m resigned to getting wet,’ she said. She only wanted to prolong this moment with a short walk – he would surely escort her to Berkeley Square.

But he was looking at her keenly, if uncertainly. ‘I’m starving – are you?’ he said. ‘What do you say to a little supper? I know a nice little restaurant on Dover Street. If we walk quickly, we might make it there without drowning.’

Her heart lifted with joy. ‘I’m hungry too,’ she said.

He took her hand and pulled it through his arm. ‘Stick close and I’ll keep the worst off you,’ he said, and, huddled together, they stepped out into the rain. They hurried across the road, dodging between the wet horses and rain-slicked motors. As they crossed Albemarle Street a gust threw a hatful of drops straight into their faces, but they only laughed, like children on a lark, and Giles tore open his overcoat and wrapped it round her, so that she was pressed against him inside its warmth. The intensity of her feelings was almost more than she could bear. They turned into Dover Street and stopped outside Pinotti’s, where she removed herself from inside his fine tweed, they straightened themselves, and entered the welcome light and warmth with a modicum of dignity. It was a small place, and obviously popular, but the genial Italian patron who greeted them gave them a comprehensive once-over and escorted them to a tiny table in a rear corner, seating them catty-corner to each other so that their knees were almost touching under the table.

‘Pinotti’s is known for good food at reasonable prices,’ Giles told her. ‘Not that price is an issue for me now, but I used to come here when I was a student. I hope you like Italian food.’

‘I hardly know, but it smells delicious,’ Nina said. In truth, she would have eaten matchboxes for the chance of being with him a little longer. She was determined to enjoy every moment, shutting her mind to any other consideration. This fragment of joy had been vouchsafed to her by Fate, and who was she to reject it?

The food was simple and delicious, with bright, honest flavours, and they ate heartily, drank red wine and, after a little awkwardness to begin with, relaxed and warmed into a freedom of thought and expression that seemed utterly natural. They talked and talked, ranging from subject to subject with the ease of old friends. There was laughter, and when at one stage he put his hand over hers and squeezed it to emphasise a point, that seemed natural too. When they had finished their main course, the waiter came to propose dolci, and when that was finished, there was coffee, and Signor Pinotti brought them a digestivo and placed the glasses with an exaggerated gesture and an indulgent look. He murmured and gave Giles something that was almost a wink.

‘What did he say?’ Nina asked, when he had gone.