Miranda was carving the chicken when David came in. He had a strange look on his face, as if someone had put a hand in his stomach and twisted his gut. "Are you all right?" Miranda asked.

"I'm fine. Just need a gla.s.s of wine. It's been a bad week." Miranda handed him his gla.s.s.

"Was Gus asleep?"

David grinned and took a swig. "No, the little monkey was just pretending. Clever boy."

"Like his father," said Blythe. "Clever, I mean."

David didn't react. "Here, let me help you with that," he said to Miranda. She handed over the knife and fork in surprise. "This looks delicious," he exclaimed.

"It's from the farmers' market. Should taste good."

"Let's have a try." He tore a piece off and popped it in his mouth. The color returned to his cheeks. "It'll do," he quipped, feeling better. "So, Blythe, how are things with you?"

"Rattling on. Same as usual. Should soon be a wrap, then I can move on. Find someone else, start again. G.o.d, I don't feel up to it."

"You won't feel up to it for a while," said Miranda. "Just take it a day at a time. Besides, Rafael needs you. He's been in the thick of it. The last thing he needs is a strange man coming on the scene. He's your man for the moment."

"I agree. Anyhow, I don't think marriage is for me."

"Don't rule it out. You're young and attractive. There's someone out there who'll convince you to change your mind," said Miranda.

"Perhaps," she said, giving a little sniff.

"Right, Blythe, come and help yourself," said David. He handed her a plate, then walked up to his wife, put his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her temple. Miranda looked up at him. Perhaps their marriage wasn't on the rocks after all, she thought, noticing a warmth in his eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. The mystery engraving at Theo Fennell was probably a horrible misunderstanding. Must not have been David at all. They just needed to spend more time together. Get to know one another again. He worked hard to give them the life they enjoyed. She had been unfair to doubt him. "And how are you, darling?" he asked her.

"Well, the garden is looking stunning. I'd love to show it to you tomorrow. We've planted loads of vegetables. The children have invited friends home for tea. We wouldn't have imagined that happening six months ago, would we?" In her enthusiasm she was about to tell him she had started writing a novel. However, something made her hold back. Her novel was linked to Ava Lightly's sc.r.a.pbook and her own, secret fantasies about Jean-Paul. She might try to publish it under a pseudonym. "Everything's good," she concluded.

David tucked into his chicken, drank half a bottle of wine and finally began to relax. It was extremely unsettling having Blythe in his house. Recently, he had begun to feel displaced in his own home. The sight of his wife and children in the vegetable garden with Jean-Paul had given him a painful jolt. They had looked like any ordinary happy family, laughing and playing in the sunshine. Miranda had treated him as if he were of little importance. She didn't smile at him the way she smiled at Jean-Paul. He had noticed the way her eyes lit up when he looked at her. The way they seemed to communicate silently like two people who shared secrets. He regretted his affair with Blythe. It had meant nothing. Just a bit of fun. But now he felt Gus and Storm drifting away from him like bright helium balloons in a big blue sky, too far away to reach. They had settled into Hartington with their mother. They all had a place there among the trees and flowers, but there didn't seem to be a place for him.

He chatted to Blythe as any friend would, hoping to give nothing away. It had been reckless of her to accept the invitation. He'd get through the weekend without raising suspicion, then he'd tell her it was over. He had tried to let her down gently, seeing less of her, not taking her calls. But she was strong and persistent and he had made the error of weakening at the sight of her in suspenders and fur coat. She had to be told straight. Their affair had to stop. He watched her in the candlelight, her features distorted by the shadows that fell across her face, and realized that he had made a ma.s.sive error of judgment. She wasn't the type of woman to let go easily. In fact, if he didn't handle it right, she could create a lot of trouble.

After dinner they remained at the table discussing Blythe's divorce. There was nothing more gratifying for her than talking about herself, sweeping everyone into her drama. The more she drank, the less attractive she became. By contrast, Miranda looked serene, if a little detached.

Later, in bed, Miranda turned over onto her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was so quiet he could barely hear her. "Miranda," he whispered. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes," she whispered back.

"Come here."

"I'm tired," she replied without moving. She didn't feel like making love. He put an arm around her waist and edged close behind her.

"I want to spend time with the children tomorrow," he said.

"Good," she mumbled sleepily.

"What would they like to do?"

"Pirates."

"That's not my game," he retorted sharply.

"Then do something different. Take them up to the castle. I've never taken them there."

"Would they like that?"

"I'm sure they would if you make it fun." David thought about it a moment. He wanted to confess that he had forgotten how to make things fun.

"I'll do my best," he said with an awkward chuckle.

"You're making me hot," she said, not unkindly. He moved back to his side of the bed. The sheets were cold.

"What's happening to us?" he said suddenly. "We used to laugh all the time. We used to share everything. Now we exist in the same world but apart. Is it my fault?"

Miranda turned over to face him. She could see his distraught face through the darkness. "I don't feel very close to you anymore, David."

"You mean you're in love with someone else?"

"Of course not," she replied, then laughed. "I love the children and the gardens and this house. I want you to be a part of it. Gus and Storm want their father to play with them, but they never see you. I don't want to complain. You're up there all week working your backside off for us. It would be ungrateful to complain."

"I want to make it right between us. I want to go back to the way we were." He reached out his hand and placed it on her hip. "I love you, Miranda. There's no one in the world like you. The trouble is I get so caught up in work, travelling up and down from London, that I forget to tell you I love you. I don't want to be cold or distant. I feel you drifting away. I don't want to lose you."

She ran her fingers down his face. "You're not going to lose me, darling. But we have to work at this."

"Then let's work at it. My family is more important to me than work. I'd quit my job in a heartbeat if I felt it was driving a wedge between us."

"You don't have to go that far. Just watch less golf on weekends. Gus and Storm are such fun. They just want you to spend time with them. They want to feel valued."

"You're so right. I wish Blythe wasn't here, then we could be alone together." He drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead. I wish I had never fooled around with her, he thought to himself. I'll tell her it's over and put the whole stupid mess behind me.

Blythe lay in bed unable to sleep. The room spun. She stuck her foot out and planted it firmly on the floor to steady herself. It wasn't much help. She seethed in fury. David hadn't paid her any attention. He had kissed his wife in front of her-what an insult!-and not even given her a secret smile or knowing look. He hadn't slipped her a note, arranging to meet in the pool house at four in the morning or in one of the spare rooms of the house. He had acted as if she were like any other guest. There was no fun in playing it so safe. So much for Miranda's floundering marriage. They looked as smugly content as any happily married couple could look.

As the room slowed down she resolved to get him on his own the following day. She'd drag him into a bush if she had to.

Henrietta sat in Troy's sitting room curled up on the sofa with a digestive biscuit and a mug of hot milk. "You know, Miranda's going to take me up to London for a makeover," she informed him. "We're going to the personal shopping place at Selfridges."

"Lucky you!" he breathed enviously. "You might even get Pandora."

"She mentioned her."

"Oh, she's famous! Gorgeous, blond, as bubbly as a magnum of Moet and Chandon."

"How on earth do you know that?"

"I make it my business to know important things." He laughed. "Grazia magazine or InStyle, I can't remember which one, but they gave her a whole feature. She takes care of the rich and famous. She'll turn Cinderetta into a real princess at the ball."

"You're silly!" She grinned at him fondly. "I'm rather excited. It's so generous of her."

"She's got a heart as big as her wallet and we love her for it!"

"She's given me Trinny and Susannah's book," she said, pulling it out of her bag.

"Great! Let's read it now."

"Now? But it's after midnight?"

"Well, you're not a pumpkin, are you?"

"No."

"You don't have anyone to get back to?"

"Sadly not."

"You can stay the night with me."

"But I haven't brought my toothbrush."

"I have enough of everything for both of us. I'll let you into my secret cupboard of cosmetics. It makes Selfridges look like the corner shop."

"Are you sure?"

"I've only got The Haggis coming in at nine and she always cancels." He snorted dismissively. "If you're going to meet the glorious Pandora, you must know what suits you. She needs to be briefed. Go on, open it!"

Five miles away, Jeremy Fitzherbert lay in his large wooden bed over which a week's worth of clothes lay draped. He never put anything away, leaving it all for his housekeeper who came once a week to wash and iron. He barely noticed the chaos until she had tidied it all away, at which point he resolved to keep it neat, only to slip back into his old habits the day after she had gone. He slept with the curtains open, and a window ajar. He liked the smell of the countryside and the sound of birds in the early morning, and he relished the pale, liquid light of dawn. He listened to the wind sweeping through the leaves causing them to rustle gently. It was a clear night. Small twinkling stars shone through the darkness and a crescent moon hung low in the sky. He sighed, thinking of Henrietta and his abortive trip to her shop. He replayed the moment they had met and smiled at the recollection of her extricating herself from the hollow tree. Her face had flushed with embarra.s.sment, but her pretty eyes had sparkled and her smile was so endearing he had wanted to kiss her right there. He liked full-bodied women. To Jeremy a full-bodied woman was a woman who ate enthusiastically from the tree of life.

He hadn't intended to go to the town hall party the following night. The older he got the more solitary he became. But there was a chance Henrietta might be there. He didn't want to miss her. As he drifted to sleep he considered his life. It was time he shared it with someone. There was only so much solace one could get from Mr. Ben and Wolfgang.

x.x.x.

Pretty white candles on the horse chestnut trees, scattering their petals over the cottage roof like snow.

David was up with Miranda and the children at 7:30 A.M. He heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel and bristled at the thought of Jean-Paul striding into the core of his family and taking it over. He peered through the window. Outside, the garden was bathed in the fresh, sparkling light of morning. Beyond, he could just see the spire of the church, nestled behind the trees. The sight a.s.suaged his irritation. The place looked this beautiful because of Jean-Paul. David was wise enough to know that if his children preferred to spend time with the gardener it was his own fault.

"We're going to have a picnic at the castle," he announced over breakfast. Storm and Rafael wriggled on the bench excitedly. Gus looked at his father mistrustfully.

"What's there to do at the castle?" he asked, testing him.

"Explore," said David, pouring coffee into his cup. Gus screwed up his nose. "It's a ruin. There might even be ghosts."

"Really!" gasped Storm.

"Don't be silly. Ghosts don't exist," said Gus.

"We'll see," added their father. "Mummy, put a chilled bottle of wine in the bag, will you."

"Good idea," she replied, trying not to show her surprise. This is what family life is supposed to be like, she thought contentedly, laying rashers of bacon on the grill.

"Did I hear someone say 'chilled bottle of wine?'" Blythe entered the room in a red cashmere sweater and tight black jeans tucked into leather boots. Her face was immaculately made up and her hair washed and shiny, falling in thick waves down her back. Miranda looked at her enviously. She had barely had time to moisturize her face. Blythe pulled out the chair beside David and sat down, enveloping him in tuberose. "Morning, my love," she said to her son. She didn't look at David, but she could feel his eyes on her. She basked in his attention like a cat in sunshine. She raked red nails through her hair and smiled at her son. "The country air is doing you good," she said. "Your cheeks are pink."

"Those boots are more suited to Knightsbridge than castle creeping," said David, running his eyes over her appreciatively.

"Are we castle creeping?"

"We are. We're taking a picnic."

"That's so quaint. I shall sit on the rug drinking chablis while you do the creeping!"

Hartington Castle was built on a natural hill overlooking the town. The central structure, now a ruin, dated back to the thirteenth century. Sadly, the castle had burned down in the late eighteenth century, killing all those inside. It had never been rebuilt. However, as a ruin it held great allure. There were walls and towers still standing, though without roofs, and a grand stone staircase leading up to a landing where the great queen would surely have set foot. Windows gave the ruins an eerie air, for they stared vacantly out from nowhere, and the wind whistled through them like spirits of the dead.

They parked the car at the bottom of the hill and walked the well-trodden path up to the castle. The children ran about excitedly, chasing each other up the gra.s.sy slope. Blythe made sure she walked ahead of David so he could get a steady view of her bottom, while Miranda walked behind, carrying the cool bag. A few families were already there, settling their rugs on the gra.s.s, nestled against the old stone walls out of the wind. An old couple walked slowly through the ruins with their dog, which scurried about like a large rat with his nose to the ground.

They found a sheltered spot beside a gnarled tree, which some claimed had once given Elizabeth I shelter. Blythe, who had carried the rugs, threw them onto the gra.s.s, then positioned herself, wrapping her coat around her to keep warm. Miranda poured them all a gla.s.s of wine and gave the children each a carton of apple juice. Gus took his father's hand. Miranda noticed, but said nothing, not wanting to draw attention to this rare moment, in case she jinxed it. "Daddy, will you come and look around with us?" he asked. To Gus's surprise, his father agreed. Ruined castles had always fascinated David. Miranda watched the three of them wandering among the large stones that remained embedded in the soil, touched by the tenderness of the sight.

By midday, the castle was busy. It was a hot May day, an optimistic prelude to summer. Blythe took off her coat and sweated in her cashmere. Miranda sat in her T-shirt, feeling the sun tan her skin. They both wore oversized sungla.s.ses and spent considerable time comparing them. They opened the second bottle of wine and laughed over shared memories and London gossip. The children ate their sandwiches hungrily, having run about all morning, chasing each other up the stone steps and jumping off the landing. After lunch they discovered a few school friends and formed a pack, tearing through the ruins like wild dogs. Rafael had long forgotten his fear of Gus and followed him devotedly. David lay back and let the rays warm his face. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Blythe watched him while he slept. She wondered when they were going to find a moment to be alone. Here he was playing the happy family man. Where did she fit in? He had hardly paid her any attention since she arrived. She shuffled uncomfortably in her cashmere and felt her face burning in the sunshine. It was even hot in the shade. By contrast, Miranda looked serene and cool in her white T-shirt. She wore no makeup to sweat under and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Blythe envied her. She might look glamorous but her jeans were too tight, her boots too hot and her foundation was melting like wax.

Miranda saw a couple of people in Elizabethan fancy dress and remembered Troy pointing to Jack and Mary Tinton in Cate's Cake Shop and mentioning that they dressed up at weekends to parade about the castle. The sight was hilarious and she wished Etta and Troy were there to laugh with. Such local trivia was something Blythe wouldn't understand. "I've got to get the children," she told Blythe, standing up. "They have to see those two dressed up. Do you want to come?"

Blythe declined. "I'm already too hot," she said.

"Take off your boots."

"I think I will. Sadly, I've got nothing on beneath my sweater except my bra."

"David's asleep."

"He might wake up."

"I doubt it. He's drunk too much. We'll have to carry him home!" Miranda chuckled and wandered off to find the children.

Blythe waited until she was out of sight then reached across and stroked David's cheek. He stirred a little, but slept on. She ran her finger across his lips, then, in an act of extreme rashness, bent down and kissed him. He opened his eyes, saw it was Blythe and sat up, casting a quick glance around him to check that they weren't being watched. "Are you insane?" he snapped, wiping off her lipstick with the back of his hand.

"I couldn't resist," she replied smoothly. "You looked so adorable asleep."

"Don't be stupid. Most of these people are probably Miranda's friends. Do you want to get caught?"

"I want to be alone with you."