Grace rolled her eyes. "So anyway...Did you all know about each other? About the two affairs? I mean, did you all know while it was going on?"

A sip of the lemonade, a jiggling of the ice. "Yes, we did. I say, this really is is nice." nice."

"Did you enter into some sort of arrangement? Was it all a frightfully modern social experiment?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that."

Once again Catherine had that look about her as though the bee was crawling down her back or up her leg.

"And both couples ended their affairs when Amelia became pregnant?" A pause while she waited for the nod. "What happened? Did you sit down in a room together and just talk about it, as friends? How do four people decide something like that?"

"We voted."

The laughter came before she could stop it. "Oh, Mummy!"

The lightest of t.i.tters. "Yes, I suppose it is rather absurd, when you think of it that way. We were trying to do the right thing about a situation that had got well out of hand. It was all very sensible and democratic. In case you're wondering, the vote was unanimous."

"Good." Grace's thoughts were coming thick and fast. A kind of waterfall. She struggled to slow it all down.

"Your father was a good man. Never think otherwise. I doubt he'd have strayed off the path at all, but Amelia enticed him. Snared him like a rabbit. I don't know if she really loved him or not. She was very deep, you see. One of those irritatingly fathomless women one comes across from time to time. One is forever trying to plumb the depths with that sort of woman. They were both drawn to that, Edward and Daddy. Me too, in a way, when Amelia and I first became friends at school...Often there's nothing really there, there, you know, with that sort of woman. Just a vacuum." She looked down at her lap. Cleared her throat. "Daddy and Edward were opposites. I think so much of it was about the difference between them, and between me and Amelia of course. Daddy was smitten with her for a while." She was twisting her hands around each other in her lap. "We you know, with that sort of woman. Just a vacuum." She looked down at her lap. Cleared her throat. "Daddy and Edward were opposites. I think so much of it was about the difference between them, and between me and Amelia of course. Daddy was smitten with her for a while." She was twisting her hands around each other in her lap. "We did did do the right thing in the end. For you children, but for ourselves, too. For each other." do the right thing in the end. For you children, but for ourselves, too. For each other."

"You can't always love the people you're supposed to love. Love just happens. You can't will it away."

"But you can walk away." Catherine moved her chair closer to Grace's. "Sometimes you have to, no matter how painful it is."

"I know."

The bush nearby was covered in ladybirds. Smothered in them, really. And all those cabbage-white b.u.t.terflies. This tiny garden was teeming with life.

"What are you going to do, Grace?"

A breath. "I'm going to leave London."

"You can't do that!" Catherine smacked her lemonade gla.s.s down, the ice cubes clinking loudly together.

"Why not? We're both agreed that I should walk away. Well, I just happen to think the farther I walk, the better."

"But what about us? What about Nancy?"

"I thought you'd understand, Mummy. It really is is for the best. I'll start afresh. I'll send money." for the best. I'll start afresh. I'll send money."

"This isn't about money. Tilly and Felix are missing you so much. You're so important to them!"

Something caught in her chest at the mention of those two little names. The sharpest of pangs. "I miss them, too. But I have to leave."

Catherine shook her head slowly. "I wish things didn't have to change. I love both both my daughters. Won't you my daughters. Won't you please please just come home?" just come home?"

It was tempting-so tempting-to say: All right, I'll come home. She could go and put her few things into the carpet bag while Catherine relaxed in the sunshine with the lemonade. They'd talk, on the bus, about the trouble at Pearson's-perhaps Mummy would be cross, perhaps not-and then, as they walked through the front door, Felix would come crawling from the living room. He could crawl so fast now-and grab her leg with both arms till she swung him up into the air and held him close. Tilly would be cross and standoffish, but after a while she might deign to glance up from her drawing, and then she'd say, "Have you brought me a present, Auntie Grace?" She'd have to say no but the ice would be broken anyway. They'd be friends again. And then she'd be writing words for Tilly to try to copy, and hugging Felix, and all would be like it used to be-until Nancy came in, that is.

"Tell me one thing," said Grace. "Do you think Nancy is in love?"

"Yes."

A curt nod. They were quiet for a moment with the buzz of the bees and the bright pinks and golds of the honeysuckle and fuchsia.

"Don't worry. I shan't be going anywhere in a hurry. I have no idea where I'm going, after all." She tried to force her mood to lighten, and her voice with it. "So, what have you been up to, Mummy? Did you go to that Women's Freedom League rally?"

"I'll tell you about that when you've told me what happened at Pearson's. What's been going on, my girl?"

And they sat on together in the sunshine, talking, as the ice in their gla.s.ses melted away.

Three.

It was a few days after her mother's visit that Sheridan announced he'd had a telephone call from a newly enlightened Nancy, and had invited her to come and spend that afternoon at the house. A chance for them to begin their new relationship. was a few days after her mother's visit that Sheridan announced he'd had a telephone call from a newly enlightened Nancy, and had invited her to come and spend that afternoon at the house. A chance for them to begin their new relationship.

"Join us for a cweam tea, darling," he said. "Thwee siblings together, and bla bla. What larks."

Grace was aware that she'd have to encounter Nancy at some point soon. She could hardly leave town without saying good-bye. She knew too that her dread of the occasion was illogical. Lovely Nancy was still Lovely Nancy, no matter whom she was in love with. Nonetheless, John and George were both looming large in her head at the moment, and she was was dreading the encounter. And really, she said to herself, it didn't have to be dreading the encounter. And really, she said to herself, it didn't have to be today today, did it? Their reunion didn't have to be quite quite so soon? so soon?

"Oh, what a shame that I already have an engagement," she said lightly to Sheridan, and spun around on her heel so that he wouldn't see her face.

This did, of course, provide the perfect opportunity for Grace to call by at Tofts Walk and bring out a further suitcase or two of her belongings. Her sister would definitely not be at home. So as the younger Rutherford sister traveled by bus and tram from Hampstead to Kensington later that day to embrace her newly discovered brother, the elder sister was traveling in the opposite direction, reading and rereading Dexter O'Connell's one-off West-Ender column, which had appeared in that day's Herald Herald.

She'd been warned about the piece by d.i.c.kie ahead of time. "You don't mind, do you, Gracie? Thing is, n.o.body in my position could refuse a column from Dexter O'Connell. He hasn't written for a newspaper in years. And you did say you could do with a break..."

She knew she should be glad that O'Connell had said sorry to her in his piece, flattered that he had made a half-open statement of his onetime heartfelt love for her. But the manner of his apology and declaration rankled. He had barged in on her column in order to say his bit. He was a.s.serting his power even as he confessed that she had made him vulnerable. Then of course, the piece itself was a typical piece of O'Connell game playing. An apparent gesture of simple honesty buried in so many layers of fakery and vanity that she couldn't unpick it. Frankly, it made her think of O'Connell as being like some high-pitched, whining mosquito that you just have to swat. She'd had absolutely enough of him and would be all the happier once Margaret had packed his case and marched him off to that d.a.m.n boat.

She was so distracted by her own rage at the column that she was barely aware of getting off the bus, barely aware of the ten-minute walk to her house, of the familiar clink of the front gate, of the rooting about for her keys. So distracted was she that she didn't notice the second clink of the gate, or the whistled tune: "Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue," so that when her name was called out cheerily and a hand touched her arm, her heart thudded and she squeaked aloud. And when she turned around to see John Cramer standing right behind her, her heart thudded yet again.

"Sorry." Cramer's shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing brown, sinewy arms. "I didn't mean to startle you. I spotted you from the window and I just had to come over. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," she said in her frostiest voice. And then she frowned. There was something different about him. "Your mustache-you've shaved it off."

He winced and stroked his upper lip. "Penance for bad behavior at the Herald Herald party. It's a rule I have for myself. My face is too big without it, don't you think?" party. It's a rule I have for myself. My face is too big without it, don't you think?"

"Mustaches are like dead mice stuck under the nose."

"That's harsh! I was attached to mine. Or perhaps it was attached to me..." He smiled. She could feel an answering smile of her own trying to break out. It was all she could do to hold it back.

"It's good to see you, Grace. Would you come across to the house with me for a cup of tea?"

A tight little shake of the head.

He rubbed at his forehead. "I said something to you at the party, didn't I? I'm sorry. I must have been boorish, perhaps downright offensive."

"Not at all. I simply have lots to do." There were sounds behind the door. Feet coming down the stairs. Catherine, or possibly Edna. Grace looked up into Cramer's mustacheless face. You could see his mouth better now. He had a nice mouth-wide and generous..."Though perhaps I could spare the time for a walk. Just a quick walk."

To begin with, they walked in silence, side by side, over the cobbles of Flask Walk. She had no idea what he was thinking. For herself, she was absurdly choked with emotion-couldn't trust herself to speak a word. He finally began to talk as they wandered up Well Walk toward the Heath.

"About the party...I want to explain..."

"No need."

"The drinking-that night was the first time I've drunk alcohol in years."

"I don't doubt it."

"I won't be doing it again, Grace. Really, you have to believe me about that."

"It's none of my business, John."

They were entering the East Heath now, where the gra.s.s grew in long tufty clumps on the uneven ground. The trees arched thickly overhead, their roots pushing up the sandy paths as though struggling to get to the surface.

"Back in my drinking days, I used to have a recurring dream about driftwood. Old bits of worn-out wood washing up on anonymous gray beaches, and just being left high up on the sand with all the weed and debris. It was a very weird dream. Slow-paced. The repeated sound of the waves against the shingle-that endless slow shushing noise...It terrified me." But now he shrugged. "G.o.d, this sounds so lame, even to me."

"Not at all." It was dark in this part of the Heath in spite of the weather, with the trees' thick foliage blocking out the sun. "I know exactly what you're talking about. I dream sometimes about a half-open door. There's a strong draft in my dream and the door is shifting very gently back and forth in that draft. Tiny movements. As it moves, it creaks. A subtle creaking noise-nothing more, but it keeps on coming, over and over. There's nothing I can do about it. I have dreamed about monsters and war and disease-all the usual nightmares. But this dream about the door-it's much more frightening."

"Then you do do understand," he said. "When I stopped drinking, I stopped having the dream. But since the night of my little relapse, it's come back. Quite a few times. I can't have that nightmare back in my life, Grace. I won't let it happen." understand," he said. "When I stopped drinking, I stopped having the dream. But since the night of my little relapse, it's come back. Quite a few times. I can't have that nightmare back in my life, Grace. I won't let it happen."

They were walking beside the Mixed Bathing Pond, the water a deep green and the humid air filled with gnats. n.o.body swimming about today but the ducks.

"I'm glad you hit O'Connell."

"Are you?" He took her arm and linked it through his. Decisively. you?" He took her arm and linked it through his. Decisively.

"I'd have liked to have done it myself. I'm immensely glad he's leaving. I had him all wrong."

"So did I, actually." His arm tightened around hers.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, he came to see me the day after the party. Dropped by at my house, just like that."

"Really?" She remembered what O'Connell had once told her about Cramer-how he'd followed him all over the world. He'd joked that Cramer would somehow manage to be there at his deathbed, like the Grim Reaper...Cramer had been at the Savoy, of course, on the day of her first date with O'Connell. " She remembered what O'Connell had once told her about Cramer-how he'd followed him all over the world. He'd joked that Cramer would somehow manage to be there at his deathbed, like the Grim Reaper...Cramer had been at the Savoy, of course, on the day of her first date with O'Connell. "He came to see came to see you you?"

"It was so strange. His manner was polite and formal, as if we were a couple of distant acquaintances. I asked him in and we drank tea together, holding our cups correctly, talking about the weather weather-we've obviously both been in England too long! And all this 'niceness,' in spite of his swollen nose and split lip. In spite of my hungover red-rimmed eyes..."

"What did he want?"

"Once we'd gotten through all that politeness, he told me he was sorry he hadn't been straight with me all these years. He said that while he was alone, writing The Vision, The Vision, he went through a kind of crisis. Eva had chosen me but, really, he'd already withdrawn from her. Effectively, he chose Veronique. But the process of writing the story rekindled his love for Eva. He said he relived the whole relationship alone in his study-the good and the bad. He was eaten up with jealousy at me for having it all for real while his life was just a dusty room with a typewriter. He said the nights were the worst. It was during that time that he began to hate me." he went through a kind of crisis. Eva had chosen me but, really, he'd already withdrawn from her. Effectively, he chose Veronique. But the process of writing the story rekindled his love for Eva. He said he relived the whole relationship alone in his study-the good and the bad. He was eaten up with jealousy at me for having it all for real while his life was just a dusty room with a typewriter. He said the nights were the worst. It was during that time that he began to hate me."

"And he just decided to go to your house and tell you this after all that time? Do you believe him?"

"Actually, I do. I know when he's lying and when he's not. He told me he'd gotten over it all once the book was published and he was out of the wilderness. But it's remained his big regret that he chose art over love. By the time he reached the end of The Vision The Vision he was all dried up inside. He tried to make himself fall in love with other women over the years, but it was all fakery." he was all dried up inside. He tried to make himself fall in love with other women over the years, but it was all fakery."

"But then Eva started writing to him?"

"By then it was too late. Veronique had wrung him out and hung him up to dry. There was no love left in O'Connell, not even for Eva. He said her letters made him sad and regretful. Sometimes they made him angry with me-he blamed me for the state she was in. He said he only replied to about half of them. Some of his replies were nostalgic, dwelling on the past. Others detailed his life and how far removed it was from hers. Then it all became too much for him and he wrote her a three-liner telling her to leave him alone."

"How did she respond?"

A sigh. "She ran away from the clinic to go search for him on the day of a lecture. He told me she knocked on the door of his room when he was dressing. Black tie, tux, dinner jacket-and there's this wreck of a woman crying and pleading with him to love her like he used to. It was all too real for O'Connell. He was brutally dismissive. Told her he didn't love her and he never would again. Had to physically prize her off him to get out the door. As he was leaving, he suggested that she stay on to take a bath and pull herself together. He said he'd thought at the time that he was being generous. His parting words were to tell her to leave the key at the desk."

"How daft that he refused to talk to you about this for all these years."

"He hated me. And I followed him around, asking the same questions over and over again because I hated him. It was all about Eva, but it also stopped being about her. It became simply about us. Me and him and our hate for each other."

"But now he's told you. What now?"

As they arrived at Parliament Hill the world seemed to open out. The overarching trees gave way all of a sudden to a bright blue sky that had never seemed so huge and so full of promise. They climbed together, up the steep path. Above them, a small boy was trying and failing to launch a purple kite into the air. Two girls threw sticks for their dog to chase.

"I love this place." Grace could feel the blood pumping through her. "I belong here."

"And yet you've decided to leave."

"That's right."

They reached the top of the hill, and Grace's bench. London was spread out below them in a shimmering heat haze. He sat down. Patted the seat to ask her to join him. After a brief hesitation, she did.

"I've never felt I really belong anywhere," he said. "Perhaps I've belonged to people rather than places. Yes, I'm sure that's right."

She thought of herself and George sitting together on this bench. The holding of hands, and eventually of each other.

"I've always longed to belong to someone. Entirely and completely. My whole self. My everything."

"Oh, Grace. Don't leave." He put his arms around her, here at this place that was the center of her world. And here, with her memories looming large all around and about them-even here in this place-she found that she'd stopped thinking about the past or the future, and for the longest moment it was just about him. His mouth. The warm, inky smell of his neck. But even as the moment stretched out, golden and green and sweet, it was suddenly over again and she was pulling away from him. Getting up, smoothing her hair, turning away. here in this place-she found that she'd stopped thinking about the past or the future, and for the longest moment it was just about him. His mouth. The warm, inky smell of his neck. But even as the moment stretched out, golden and green and sweet, it was suddenly over again and she was pulling away from him. Getting up, smoothing her hair, turning away.

"You know why I hit O'Connell at the party?" came his voice. "Sure, I couldn't stand to see him acting like he was king of the place, swanning about in that ridiculous white suit, surrounded by admirers. But that wasn't it. Sure, he'd put my Eva in a book and made a load of money out of it and tried to poison my marriage, and refused to talk to me about my wife's death. But that wasn't it either. None of it."

"So, what was it then?"

"Do you really really not know? It was about you, Grace. not know? It was about you, Grace. You. You. Because you were his, not mine. Because he came over to gloat about that. To tell me that he Because you were his, not mine. Because he came over to gloat about that. To tell me that he had had you, body and soul, and that he'd go on you, body and soul, and that he'd go on having having you until it became too dull to continue, and until he'd used you up like an old cloth, and that I would never, you until it became too dull to continue, and until he'd used you up like an old cloth, and that I would never, ever ever have you, even when having you was no longer worth anything-because you were his and because he'd make d.a.m.n sure of it." have you, even when having you was no longer worth anything-because you were his and because he'd make d.a.m.n sure of it."

"How dare you!" She turned to look at him, and his eyes were dark and wet.

"I'm telling you the whole truth, Grace. That's what he said. He was taunting me because, actually, he sensed something between us and he couldn't stand it. I hit him because I love you."

"Oh. Oh dear." She'd come over all dizzy, and he was instantly on his feet, guiding her back to the bench. She tried ineffectually to bat him away as she sat down.

"What is the matter matter with me?" she snapped. "I'm not the fainting sort. I've never fainted." with me?" she snapped. "I'm not the fainting sort. I've never fainted."

"That night at the party," he said, more softly. "The thing thing between O'Connell and me-well, it stopped being about Eva and the past. And it became about you and about the present. Because, actually, he loves you, too." between O'Connell and me-well, it stopped being about Eva and the past. And it became about you and about the present. Because, actually, he loves you, too."