'And how about you, Miriam? How's life?'

'The usual. We went to the Cotswolds for three weeks. The weather was abysmal.'

'I simply hate the Cotswolds.'

'Quite. Well, must dash, but I'm glad we've had a chat. I've been trying to catch your eye all evening, but you've been busy. I have to ask - who's the handsome man who's been taking up all your time? Did you come with him?'

Emerald understood that arriving with a boy at a social engagement had its own connotations. Definitions were important.

'Peter? He's ... a friend. He's getting me another drink.' The friend label was sufficiently ambiguous to avoid a detailed discussion about him, but was proprietary enough to dissuade all but the most predatory of compet.i.tors. 'What about you? Are you with someone?' Emerald countered.

'Me? No, I've been going with a chap for a while, but ... you know how it is.'

'Quite,' Emerald said, nodding, but having no idea.

Fiona and Michael returned to the marquee and Miriam, having exchanged brief pleasantries with them, wandered off.

Emerald discreetly picked a sprig of greenery from Fiona's blouse.

Fiona giggled. 'We've been in to see the Chelsea Flower Show,' she said.

At that moment, Peter returned with the drinks and the four began to discuss attending the Henley regatta.

'What do you think, Emma?' Fiona asked. 'Can you make it by mid-afternoon?'

'I'm not sure I care to go,' she replied, taking a sip of her drink.

'You're not?' Peter asked. 'But I thought you had arranged it. We'd even spoken about where to meet on the Thursday.'

'I know, but I'm actually still thinking about it.'

She couldn't admit that she'd been unable as yet to convince her mother to allow her to go, and decided to change the subject.

'Come, Peter,' she said. 'Let's take a walk in the flower show.'

She led him from the marquee to the hospital grounds, where they spent a few minutes admiring the flower displays. Then she found a narrow path leading from the main area into the shrubbery.

'Emma, what are you doing?' he asked.

She turned to him and put a finger to her lips. 'It's a secret,' she said. 'Just follow me.'

In a grove of trees, surrounded by camellias and rhododendrons, she stopped.

'Is this it?' he asked.

'Yes. They're pretty, aren't they?' she said, nodding at the flowers.

'Yes ... But they're not part of the show, are they? I mean, they're nice, but there are others far more beautiful in the exhibits, don't you think?'

'Perhaps, but this is our private show.' She made a performance of studying the camellia's petals. 'And I thought you might want to be alone with me.' She gave him a coy smile.

Peter moved close to her and placed a hand gently on her elbow.

'I do ...' he said, but remained where he stood - half a pace away from her.

'I thought you might want to ... you know ... kiss me,' she said.

'As a matter of fact ...' He moved towards her, lifting his right arm as she lifted her left. There was an awkward moment as they shuffled their feet and shifted positions. They seemed to have too many limbs between them and nowhere to put them.

At last, he wrapped his arms around her slim waist and she ran her hands up to his shoulders before clasping them behind his neck. She raised her face to him and closed her eyes.

When Peter's lips met hers she was transported. It was the most exhilarating feeling she'd ever experienced. At that moment, as her head whirled and her breath caught in her chest, she knew she would remember that kiss for as long as she lived.

He continued to press into her until their teeth grated together and it was hard for her to breathe. Finally she had to break away. She clung to him, gasping. His arms were strong around her waist and she could feel his hips pressing his lower body to hers. Something other than the earlier euphoria claimed her. She was now very conscious of his body on hers. She could feel the press of his thighs and the thrust of his groin. A flush of warmth rose from her shoes through her thighs to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Peter was taking quick, shallow breaths and muttering to her that he loved her and wanted her.

She didn't know what to do or what to say. But she felt a power over Peter that until that moment she'd never known existed.

When the policeman rang the bell in Belgrave Square and Dana found him in the doorway with his bobby's helmet in his hands and a nervous look on his face, she knew it could only be bad news. She also knew it wasn't as bad as it could be, as Emerald was standing behind him and not dead.

'Afternoon, mum,' he said, lifting his chin and straightening his back.

'h.e.l.lo, officer,' Dana said as calmly as she was able.

'I'm afraid I have some matters to report that might be distressing to your ladyship.'

The neighbourhood was bristling with diplomats and lesser royalty. The sergeant was having an each-way bet with Dana's elevation to the peerage.

'Won't you come in?' Dana said, stepping aside and not telling him she was no longer a countess.

As Emerald pa.s.sed she tried to catch her eye, but her daughter kept her face averted.

In the drawing room, she indicated a Louis XIV chair, but the policeman gave it a look and remained standing.

Seeing this, Dana decided to take the initiative. 'What seems to be the trouble, sergeant?'

He cleared his throat. 'Well, mum, I'm not sure how to say it.'

'Come, come, I'm a mature woman. You can speak frankly.'

He coughed again. 'At about six o'clock this evening, I was patrolling the Chelsea Flower Show in the grounds of -'

'There's no need to go into detail,' Dana said with more edge on her voice than she intended. She smiled and continued. 'I think we all know where the Chelsea Flower Show is held. Can you please get to the point of your visit?'

'While patrolling the grounds of the ... while patrolling the grounds, I saw the young lady here being led into the bushes behind the -'

'He was not leading me,' Emerald said, interrupting. 'I was leading him.'

This caused the sergeant to pause and regather his thoughts. 'As I was sayin', I observed two persons leaving the main path by stepping over a rope line and removing themselves to the shrubbery behind the Agricultural Society's pavilion. I understood that the path led to nowhere in particular, so I followed same to inform them of this fact. When I got to where they were standing, I saw ... ahem ... the young man taking liberties with the young lady here.'

'Liberties?' Dana asked.

'Certain ... um ... liberties, ma'am.'

Dana turned to Emerald, aware that her face was as pale as her daughter's was flushed.

'We were kissing,' Emerald said. 'Actually, I was kissing him, and he, well ...' She giggled. 'He didn't know what to do.'

'Emerald!'

Her daughter dropped her head and shrugged. 'It wasn't anything ... bad,' she said.

Dana turned back to the policeman. 'And what did you do, sergeant?' she asked.

'I enquired as to his name and address, mum.'

'He gave him a nasty poke with his baton,' Emerald said, giving the sergeant a scornful look.

The policeman's top lip tightened a fraction. 'I thought it a very poor state of affairs, mum. He and the young lady an' all. The chap's up at Oxford. Ought to know better how to behave 'imself. And Miss Emerald 'ere is only a child.'

'I'm nineteen,' she said, pouting.

'Emerald. I don't want to hear another word from you.' Turning back to the policeman, Dana said, 'Thank you for your time, sergeant.'

'I thought it best to be discreet, mum, but I have the young man's name and address. That is, if you are wantin' to take the matter further.'

'I think not. Thank you again.'

Dana led the way to the front door, grateful for the fact that the butler had taken the day off to visit his ailing mother.

As she closed the door behind the policeman, she firmed her resolve. She had to take steps she'd been mulling over for some time. But first she had to talk with Oswald.

After Emerald went to her bedroom, Dana found her husband in his office, paddling among his papers. 'Darling, I'd like to have a word to you about Emerald,' she began.

Oswald looked at her over his gla.s.ses. 'Emerald? Certainly, darling. What's been happening in her busy life?'

'The usual, but I've been meaning to discuss taking her overseas with me for the season.'

'The season? Why, it's half over already.'

'I'm talking about the next season, dear. In New York. It opens in September with the Metropolitan Opera. And then there's the international debutante ball in December. It would be so good for her, Oswald.'

'How long would you be gone?'

'The season runs through to Easter.'

'Oh, but I shall miss her too much. And you, of course, my dear. What does Emerald think of the idea?'

'I haven't asked her yet. I thought it best to discuss it with you first.'

'Thank you; I'm glad you did. I really don't think she should be away so long. She's too young.'

'Oswald, she's going on twenty.'

'Good lord! Even so, another year or two shouldn't matter. Let's say you take her next year. Soon enough by far, if you ask me. Yes, when she's twenty-one will do.'

CHAPTER 45.

The Red Cross office was a converted factory in Beddington. It had two rows of tables in the middle of an open s.p.a.ce and benches around the walls where the applicants for emigration a.s.sistance sat awaiting their turn.

Elsie, the woman who showed Emerald around, had her grey hair tucked into a hairnet, and wore a pair of white elasticised cotton sleeves pulled to her elbows to protect her cardigan against wear. When Emerald met her that morning Elsie had expressed surprise at her youth.

'I thought all you young people would be working or at least looking for a job,' she said.

'I don't need to work,' Emerald said, then regretted it. Elsie let her surprise show, but resisted further questions on the matter.

Elsie was very thorough in her briefing, paying particular attention to what she called the professional distance needed between the Red Cross volunteers and the refugees.

'You know, my dear,' she said near the end of her briefing, 'the Red Cross aren't always able to find a country that will take these poor souls. And many times we can't reunite them with their loved ones. There are cases where people have disappeared during the war and we can't find hide nor hair of them. Vanished into thin air, you might say.' She looked over her gla.s.ses to deliver her next words. 'It would never do to become too involved, too friendly. It only leads to heartache.'

It was such a quaint sentiment, Emerald almost smiled.

'Well then,' Elsie said, 'you're ready to start.'

And she did, working through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon on emigration requests. Her tasks were simple enough: she helped the refugees complete their paperwork, checked their doc.u.mentation and then, depending upon a set of guidelines Elsie had given her, stamped: Approval Recommended or Approval Not Recommended on the form. The final decision was made elsewhere, but she enjoyed the sense of power her part of the processing gave her. On her say-so hung the future course of many people's lives.

She was becoming quite adept, even bored, with the repet.i.tive nature of the work, and she began to think of her trip to Henley and the regatta the following week.

Her mother couldn't be rea.s.sured Emerald would be safe - by that she meant chaperoned - until she called Fiona's mother, who told her that Fiona's older brother would be there to supervise matters until she herself arrived on the weekend. He was a sensible young man, she said, coming down from Cambridge with a few friends to see the races.

Naturally her mother didn't know that Emerald and Fiona had arranged to meet up with the Oxford boys before then. Emerald allowed herself a little daydreaming about what a few days alone with Peter might look like. It was electrifying.

Things continued in the same vein with the refugees all afternoon, until a young man, wearing a brown hat and a black coat too large by at least two sizes, came forwards.

Emerald ran her eye over the front page. He was Goran Papasov, age twenty-four, originally from Czechoslovakia, but now living in a refugee camp at Heathrow.

The subsequent pages of his application were largely incomplete.

'Are you having trouble completing the remaining questions, Mr Papasov?'

He shrugged. 'No,' he said.