Page 35 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

Truman Smith had no conversation, so Nina had time on the journey to think.

Was going alone to London the right choice?

Perhaps it would have been better to wait until Mr Cowling was ready to go up.

At least she would have had his company in the evening.

Instead, there would be an empty house in Berkeley Square and emptiness behind her where no dog pattered.

She had remembered now that her aunt would not be at home: she had gone to an Easter retreat in Oxford to discuss Byzantine religious art.

But the die was cast. Truman saw her to the door of the house. She invited him in for refreshment but he declined coolly, saying he must go straight back. She felt snubbed, and miserably alone.

Mrs Banks, the housekeeper, was hovering in the hall. ‘Has my maid come?’ Nina asked.

‘Yes, madam. She’s in your room, unpacking.’

‘Very well. I’ll go up.’

Mrs Banks stayed her. ‘Oh, madam, you have a visitor. Mr Blake is here. I showed him into the drawing-room.’ She looked uncertain. ‘He insisted on waiting, madam. I hope I did right.’

‘Quite right,’ Nina said, and ran up the stairs with a lifting heart.

He came out on to the landing to meet her. ‘Nice surprise?’

‘Oh, Decius!’

‘I made your poor housekeeper admit me. She kept saying she didn’t know when you’d arrive, but I knew which train you were on.’

‘How?’

‘A telegram this morning. I’m ordered to place myself at your disposal.

’ His expression changed. ‘I’m so sorry about Trump.

Poor little chap. Do you want to tell me about it?

’ She shook her head. He drew her hand through his arm and turned towards the drawing-room.

‘Then we’ll talk about other things. Tea will be up at any moment.

I took the liberty of ordering it to be brought as soon as you arrived.

It’s early, but I thought you’d want it. ’

‘Poor Mrs Banks,’ Nina said.

‘She knows I’m Mr Cowling’s proxy. I don’t think it fractured her loyalty too badly.’

‘Well, I’m very glad to see you,’ Nina said. ‘I’d got to the point of dreading being here alone.’

‘Truman wouldn’t even come in for tea?’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘He’s a cold fish. Good at his job, so Mr Cowling tells me, but no time for the human dimension. With that classical Greek profile and the icy blue eyes, he puts me in mind of—’

‘St John Rivers?’ Nina finished for him.

‘I was just going to say that!’

There was a fire lit in the drawing-room, but it hadn’t been going for long, and the room smelt cold, unused.

‘Aren’t I taking you away from your work?’ Nina asked. ‘How is Mr Tullamore doing?’

‘Astonishingly well. No, that sounds as though it’s a surprise that he is. He’s a very intelligent young man and, even better, he has a firm grasp of business.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘What can his father have been thinking, to let him go? He’ll be a severe loss to his enterprises.’

‘But Mr Cowling’s gain, so that’s all to the good. Ah, tea.’ Mrs Banks arrived with the tray, helped by Moxton, Mr Cowling’s valet, who doubled as butler in Market Harborough and seemed now to be adding footman to his repertoire. ‘Oh, and toasted teacakes too! I’m starving.’

‘Didn’t you have luncheon on the train?’ Decius asked.

‘Don’t look indignant. Truman offered but I didn’t want it then.’

Mrs Banks was hovering again. ‘Did you want to give orders for dinner, madam?’

Before Nina could answer, Decius said, ‘I already have plans for you. I’m dining at the Morrises’, and naturally they want you too. Will you come?’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer,’ Nina said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Banks, I won’t be dining at home.’

There was a low place in the day, between tea and dressing for the evening, when Decius had gone away and she was alone again.

She mourned for her poor dog, and more generally for her confusion about her life.

What was she to do? What was she for ? She longed for the warmth and comfort of another person, for which Trump had been a substitute.

When she’d set eyes on Decius that afternoon she had wanted to fling herself into his arms for sheer relief at his presence.

She thought again, flinchingly, of her husband’s suggestion.

The idea of having a child was powerfully attractive.

But – a lover? No, no, too dangerous, too difficult, too fraught with possible anguish on all sides.

And yet . . . Her body ached as did her mind, both unfulfilled.

If there was to be no child, what then? What would she do with the long, long years to come?

Something else that she did not want to think about directly was the possibility that she might one day find herself waiting for Mr Cowling to die, so that she could marry someone else.

And she didn’t, oh, she really didn’t, want to be that person.

In the cab on the way to Kensington, Nina asked how come Decius had been invited to dinner that evening. ‘I didn’t realise you knew them particularly well,’ she said.

Henry Mawes Morris, called Mawes by everyone, was an artist, illustrator and well-known cartoonist for Harlequin , the satirical magazine, also playwright and talented musician, had been a first-class cricketer in his youth, and was also a yachtsman.

His many talents meant that he had acquaintances in almost every field.

Nina had met him through her aunt, for he and his wife mixed in the same circle of intellectuals.

She had discovered before their marriage that Mr Cowling also knew Mawes through the King, who adored his cartoons and often had him to dine.

‘Mr Cowling asked me to take some papers round to Mr Morris, about an investment he had recommended,’ said Decius.

‘When he discovered I was living in lodgings, he invited me to dinner, and since then the whole family have had me on their conscience. I’m not allowed to be lonely or hungry or bored.

’ He grinned. ‘I think they’d have the spare bedroom made up for me in an instant if I let them. ’

‘They are very generous,’ Nina agreed. ‘Lepida is my special friend.’

‘I know. They all talk about you. What a remarkable young woman she is,’ he added. ‘I suppose with a polymath for a father she was bound to have an interesting mind.’

The Morrises lived in Stafford Terrace, in one of those tall houses, white stucco to the first floor and yellow brick above, that Nina thought of as ‘very Kensington-y’.

All three came into the hall to greet her, and she was enveloped in the motherly arms of Isabel, embraced by Lepida, and finally given a hearty handshake by Mawes, who said, ‘You are looking more beautiful than ever, my dear. You must let me make another portrait of you.’ A thoughtful expression crossed his face.

‘D’you know, I think you would work quite nicely as my model for Emma Hamilton.

I tried Lepida, but she’s too thin in the face. ’

Nina laughed, accustomed to his habit of using those around him as models for his cartoons – she had appeared in several of them in the past. ‘I’m not sure I’m voluptuous enough. What’s the occasion?’

‘Oh, we’re all Trafalgar-mad this year,’ he said.

‘Specifically, there’s the Naval, Shipping and Fisheries Exhibition at Earl’s Court.

It’s opening next week so I want to be ready.

There’s going to be a “scenic interpretation”, whatever that may be, of the battle and Nelson’s death.

The King’s going to open it, and I had an idea—’

‘Not now, Mawes,’ Isabel interrupted him before he could get into full flow. ‘Let the poor child take her coat off at least! There, now. Decius, lead the way – we’ll have sherry in the drawing-room first.’

Decius seemed very much at home. He had been welcomed like one of the family; and while Nina had been engaged with Mawes he and Lepida had been talking aside in low voices, like old friends.

Over the sherry, she learned from Isabel that Decius and Lepida had been to several lectures together, and from Mawes that he had escorted the whole family to see The Scarlet Pimpernel at the New Theatre, and recently to a performance of the musical comedy The Talk of the Town at the Lyric.

His feet, she thought in Mr Cowling’s phrase, were well under the table.

Conversation over dinner ranged from the new Sherlock Holmes collection that had just come out – Holmes’s explanation of how he had survived the Reichenbach Falls came in for some forensic dissection – to the plaster cast of the diplodocus skeleton, which was to be unveiled in May at the Natural History Museum.

‘The King saw a sketch of the bones in Andrew Carnegie’s house in Scotland years ago,’ Mawes said.

‘He couldn’t get the actual bones for the nation – they’re in a museum in Pittsburgh – but he persuaded Carnegie to take a cast of the whole skeleton, and Carnegie’s donated it to the British Museum.

It will be just as good as the original to all intents and purposes.

Who will know the difference? Eighty-five feet long, can you believe it? ’

‘How could anything so big ever walk the earth?’ Isabel marvelled. ‘You’d think it would collapse under its own weight.’

‘Elephants don’t,’ Lepida pointed out.

‘Elephants aren’t eighty-five feet long.’

‘When does it go on show?’ Nina asked.

‘The twelfth of May,’ said Mawes. His face brightened. ‘We should make up a party to go and see it. Nina, you and Mr Cowling would join us? I’m sure he’d be interested in it.’