Page 7 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

Leaving Fortnum’s, she wandered westwards, drifting through the crowd, feeling like a leaf borne along by a stream. Trump began to drag at the lead, complaining that the pavements were hard, and that he was a very small dog in a world full of boots. At the corner of St James’s Street she stopped and picked him up, wondering what to do next, and was almost run into by Richard Tallant as he came round the corner.

‘Miss Sanderton! No, what am I thinking? It’s Mrs Cowling now, isn’t it? What are you doing here? Is this your dog? He looks a likely fellow.’ He scratched the top of Trump’s head, and the dog, knowing an expert when he met one, gave the hand a lick.

‘It’s nice to see you, Mr Tallant,’ Nina said, meaning it more than the conventional words could express. In her mind he represented the metropolis, civilised company, the interest and freedom of her come-out year – everything that was not Northampton.

‘You look lost,’ Richard suggested. ‘But no one can be lost on Piccadilly. Simply isn’t possible.’

‘I was just thinking how thirsty I am and wondering how to get a cup of tea.’

‘Nothing could be simpler,’ he declared. ‘There’s Rampling’s, just a few steps away. Will you allow me the pleasure of escorting you?’

This was a new problem. Was it all right to go into a restaurant with a man, without a chaperone? She hesitated. ‘Um . . .’

It was as if he could read her mind. ‘You are a married woman, Mrs Cowling, in case you’ve forgotten. There is absolutely nothing improper in taking tea with me in a well-lit public place in the middle of the afternoon.’ He offered his arm. ‘After all, as the brother of the husband of your best friend, I’m practically family,’ he added.

She wished he hadn’t said that. She had been trying not to think about Giles, and there was just enough family resemblance in Richard to taunt her. She had made a rule for herself, when Kitty married Giles, that she would not think about him, ever, and on the whole she managed pretty well. She had two people now, Kitty and Mr Cowling, who would be dishonoured by it. But just for a moment, glancing at Richard’s profile, everything flooded over her with such force that her legs felt weak, and she wanted to sink to the pavement and howl like a lost child. But she seized control again with a violent effort, and a few moments later she walked into Rampling’s tea room on Richard’s arm with calm dignity, thinking nothing more weighty than that she was glad she had put on her best hat that morning.

‘So, Mr Tallant—’ she began, when they were seated. Trump, tired out from the walk, lay down under her chair and put his nose on his paws.

‘Richard, please,’ he interrupted. ‘Mr Tallant makes me feel old.’

‘Richard, then. Are you living in London now?’

‘No, still down at Ashmore. I came up to do some business for the estate with Vogel, our banker. And, more importantly, to get a haircut in Jermyn Street. Whence I was coming when I bumped into you so delightfully. Do you live in London?’

‘No – Mr Cowling came up for business and thought I might enjoy a pleasure trip. Did your business go well?’

‘Not especially,’ said Richard. ‘Did your pleasure trip go well?’

‘Not especially,’ Nina said. They looked at each other, with similar expressions of discontent.

‘You first,’ said Richard. ‘Please. Think of me as the safe hole in the ground into which you can whisper your secrets.’

‘I don’t think the hole turned out to be very safe, did it? Didn’t King Midas kill the barber afterwards?’

‘It’s such a pleasure talking to someone who understands one’s references,’ Richard said. ‘Tell me anyway – what’s happened to vex you?’

Nina told him about her aunt’s rejection. ‘She didn’t want to listen to me, was too busy with her own affairs. She’s never been sentimental,’ she concluded, ‘but I thought she was fond of me. And she’s the only family I have.’

‘I’m sure she is fond of you,’ Richard said. ‘The best sort of fondness, the sort that does what’s right for the other person. She’s pushing you out of the nest and making you fly. After all, what did you expect her to do? She can’t change anything in your life now, can she?’

‘I suppose I didn’t expect her to do anything,’ Nina said, forced to think it out. ‘I just thought she would . . . well, sympathise with me.’

‘And what good would that have done? I expect it hurt her more than it hurt you – especially if you let it show on your face that you minded.’

‘Oh dear,’ Nina said. ‘Now I feel guilty as well as sad.’

‘Don’t be sad. Tell me what’s troubling you about your new life in – where is it you’re living?’

‘Northampton,’ she said.

‘I don’t know the place at all. I may have passed through it on a train.’

He raised his eyebrows receptively, but she couldn’t tell him, of course, about her relationship with Mr Cowling, and her puzzle over the bedroom business. She couldn’t even tell him about Mrs Mitchell and the domestic stalemate – he wasn’t that much of a brother. She fiddled with a piece of bread-and-butter for a moment, and then said, ‘I hate Northampton. It’s so dull!’ And was aware that it sounded childish and petulant, not smartly metropolitan at all.

‘Then why do you live there?’ Richard asked, sipping tea.

‘Mr Cowling has a factory there.’