A silence prevailed as our eyes communed. It was broken by the sound of a car coming up the front drive. Tires, crunching up the gravel slope. As it swept around the fountain under the gunroom window, we turned as one. Belinda's blue BMW passed sleekly by, containing the two fair heads of Belinda and Hugo. Car doors opened then slammed. Footsteps went round to the front, where Belinda insisted, unaware that real country folk used the back. There were so many pitfalls for Belinda, lurking in the class system, and she fell into many of them: to be snobbish from such a disadvantaged position must surely be exhausting. But there was one hole Belinda never fell down, and that was the one that kept her grip on her son.

I wanted to tell Roger that. Tell him that geography and a distance of three hundred miles made no difference. Belinda had never loosened her hold, not when I was married to him — he phoned her at seven every night, and if he didn't, she called him, and he always spoke from another room. And every month she made a trip to London. Every month. A pilgrimage. She'd arrive at Paddington and get a taxi to the City where she'd have lunch with him at Wheelers. Not with me, she never saw me, unless it was to tell me to move apartments or, on one famous occasion, to deliver all the family recipes, the ones Hugo liked. No, just her son. And I had no reason to suspect, I thought, as Christina hove into view, returning slowly from the beach, her children in her wake arguing over a bucket, that things were any different now. I washed my other brushes as Roger gazed out too, lost in his own thoughts. I'd like to tell him that. That Hugo hadn't got away. Had never escaped. But I suspect he already knew.

Chapter 20

I went from the room, leaving Roger to his thoughts. He was still staring out to sea when I departed, hands thrust in his pockets. Very uncharacteristically for me, I then risked a spot of confrontation. Down the passageway I went, and into the kitchen. Belinda and Hugo were perched at the island together, about to have a cup of coffee. There was no sign of Yvonne. Hugo was facing me and Belinda had her back to me, pressing down the percolator. She turned.

"Oh, hello," she said, in a surprised tone. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You still here?"

"Yes, we had a bit of a session this morning. Took a bit longer than usual. I just popped in to say goodbye," I said, by way of an excuse.