Page 10 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Richard took a muffin from the dish and sat down with it, while she dealt with the teapot. ‘So, did you find anything suitable, sir?’ he asked Mr Cowling.

‘In fact, I did,’ he said, ‘and it’s just across the other side of this very square. Lady Sotherton’s house. It’s not big, but it’s handsome, and it has a nice double drawing-room for entertaining. I took a fancy to it, so being as I was in the neighbourhood, I took the liberty of popping in on Lady Manningtree to ask her opinion.’

‘And I said it would be very nice to have Mr Cowling and dear Nina as neighbours,’ Aunt Caroline said, ‘and that I’d never heard any bad of the house. I’ve never been inside – Lady Sotherton’s quite old and hasn’t entertained for years, as I understand. I think she lives mostly in the country now. But I know one or two houses on that side.’

‘Of course, Nina will have to have her say,’ Mr Cowling added. ‘She has to like it too. She’s more fixed ideas about houses and that sort of thing than me. And she likes old places,’ he added, half boasting, half apologetic. ‘Me, I’d always sooner have everything new, but I know she’s not the only one to see the good in old buildings and old furniture – Sheraton and Chippendale and suchlike.’

Richard had stopped listening. He was staring into the milk jug. ‘Where does this milk come from, Aunty?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t the least idea,’ Aunt Caroline replied. ‘Really, Richard, what a very odd question!’

‘Cherchez la femme,’ Grandmère said, her dark eyes bright with amusement. ‘When Richard does something outré, there is always a woman at the back of it.’

‘Is there something wrong with the milk?’ Aunt Caroline pursued.

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘That’s rather the point.’

‘What point?’

‘The point that someone somewhere is making good milk available, but not everywhere, and not enough of it.’

Cowling was looking at him with interest. ‘There’s a lot of folk in London,’ he said, ‘and I dare say a lot of milk wanted. You’ve got cows on your estate at Ashmore Castle, I suppose?’

‘Yes. I wonder what it would take to marry the two ends,’ Richard said.

‘Business sense, for one thing,’ said Mr Cowling.

‘And that’s something you haven’t got,’ Aunt Caroline said to Richard, with an air of finality. She wasn’t being unkind to him, Richard knew. It was that she did not believe business sense was something a gentleman needed to have, or perhaps even ought to have.

‘No more I have.’ Richard smiled reassuringly at her, and turned the conversation to the prospects of the coming Season and what plans were forming for Rachel’s debut. But a glance at Mr Cowling drew a little affirmatory nod from him, a nod that said, If you’ve got a business idea, lad, I’m always ready to hear it.

I’m a long way from that point, Richard thought. But it was good to know there was someone he could go to, if the idea ever matured.

The snow that had been skirting around them for a week finally arrived on Christmas Day. The first flakes fell as the family drove back from church in the morning, and by the time the carriage reached the top of the drive, it was falling thickly. Alice lowered the window, leaned out, and cried excitedly, ‘I can’t see the horses!’

‘Close the window,’ the dowager snapped.

‘It’s like being in fog. If I can’t see them, John Manley won’t be able to. Suppose we go into the ditch?’

‘Behave yourself. Sit down. Manley knows his business.’

The carriage slowed to a crawl. Joe Green, the second coachman, got down and went to lead the horses, to give them courage. Within moments he was as thickly plastered as they were. By the time they reached the Castle and the family scurried to the great door, the whole of the air had been displaced by snow. Glancing upwards briefly, Alice saw the flakes whirling down in multitude, black against the grey, silent and intent. It was exhilarating, but a little frightening.

It didn’t make much difference to Christmas Day – an indoor festival once they were back from church. But on Boxing Day they woke to a world transformed, a bumpy blanket of uniform white obscuring every feature of the landscape, and it was clear there would be no hunting that day. The snow had stopped, but the sky was leaden.

‘It’s a pity about the meet at Lord Shacklock’s,’ Kitty said, to comfort Alice, ‘but I expect it will be gone in a day or two, and there’s the whole of the rest of the season to come.’

But by midday the snow had started again.

Giles couldn’t say he actually enjoyed the dinner or the ball. At table, he was placed between a French diplomat’s wife and an Egyptian diplomat’s wife, both of whom spoke nothing but a heavily accented French, and at the ball he had to dance with a series of middle-aged ladies brought to him by his host. The evening had dragged by. It was hot, the music was loud, and there didn’t seem to be anything but a very strange champagne to drink. By the time he’d got to bed, he was thirsty, footsore, and his head was splitting.

The rest of his stay, however, was pleasanter. There were a number of parties, but they were smaller and more agreeable and held among the large English-speaking community, and in between he was able to walk and have quiet talks with Giulia. In fact, so comfortable did he find himself that, far from rushing back to the diggings at the earliest opportunity, he saw no reason to leave Cairo until the Antrobuses did, though that placed a strain on his wardrobe. He was obliged to invest in a few changes. Luckily there was a very discreet second-hand clothes shop in a quiet corner of Zamalek, which dealt only in the unwanted clothes of the affluent European, where he was able to get a couple of lightweight suits. Shirts, of course, could be made to measure within hours by a shirt-maker, who attended at Ismailia House at a moment’s notice.

Now he was back in the Valley, and as the days passed he felt this was the happiest time of his life. The work was hard but absorbing, there was a constant air of anticipation, which was most stimulating, he had agreeable companions – and he had Giulia.

He had been a lonely child – estranged from his family, of solitary pursuits that did not attract friends – and he had grown up into a lonely man. Now, it was as if he had been given a second chance at a happy childhood. Giulia was the sister he had never had. Linda had always been too difficult, resentful of his privilege as eldest son and disapproving of a nature so different from hers. Rachel and Alice had been too young to be companions, and by the time they were old enough, he was away at school and then university.

Working alongside Giulia by day, sitting by her in the cool of the evening, talking and laughing, he felt a simple content. They shared tastes, activities and ambitions; they had acquaintances in common and shared memories. He never had to explain his meaning, or apologise for his interests. With her, he felt he could just be himself. She liked in him the things he liked in himself – things of the intellect. She was clever and amusing. And she was beautiful, and he liked to look at beautiful things.