I went down the hall away from the kitchen and into the empty gunroom. Turning the easel around, I unclipped the portrait. I paused, regarding it in my hands: smiled fondly at my ex-father-in-law. Then I went back down the corridor and took it out to the car, stashing it carefully. Next I went back for the easel, and finally my paints. I hesitated as I closed the lid on it all. Really? Just sneak away? Not tell anyone you're leaving, not say goodbye, just leave without a word? Of course I couldn't. But I quaked at the thought of Belinda. And Roger was out of the question right now, so shattered, so sad — probably crying, which he did a lot. I remember witnessing it, years ago, when we'd watched a documentary about the Somme. Roger was a very emotional man. I decided to go upstairs and track down Christina, packing. Knock on her bedroom door.

I went back in, but bypassed the main staircase. Instead I crept softly to the far end of the house where the back stairs were. Unobserved, I nipped up the narrow flight, but unfortunately, someone else was nipping down. Tommy. He and I came face to face, and since he was descending at speed, we very nearly cannoned into each other. The stairs gave him more than his usual height over me, and when we'd both recovered from our surprise, he looked down at me. His face was suddenly impenetrable, his blue eyes unusually guarded. He glanced at the car keys in my hand.

"Off somewhere?"

"Oh, yes. I — I just came to say goodbye."

“To who?"

“To — well, to everyone, really." I floundered. "Well, no, Christina, I thought."

His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Did you? Is that what you thought? Just Christina. Ask her to pass it on. And then — what, disappear? Just like that?"

"Well, no, not just like that." I could feel myself reddening.

"It's a good moment to run, I'll give you that. A good day to get away. No one will notice."

"I wasn't running, Tommy. I just feel . . . I don't know. Maybe I'm in the way."

"How very English."

"After all, I'm not really family."

"Lord, no. Not involved at all."

I didn't like his tone, but at that moment we heard Belinda clear her throat from below, and then her quick footsteps down the hall towards us. I froze. He jerked his head. Fear kicking in, I instinctively nipped upstairs after him, then down the passage and into one of the spare rooms off the landing, clearly his.

We listened from behind the closed door. There was no sound of Belinda following and he motioned for me to sit beside him on the end of the bed. I felt rather ashamed suddenly, rather foolish, and decided to speak first.

"You're right," I agreed. "It was shabby of me not to come and find you. But firstly you were with Roger, and secondly . . .”

“Secondly?"