“I’ll say.” Did it never cross his mind that talking about the war was more painful to her than to him? He went on about such bloody camaraderie; he’d had every side – the slaughter, the brandy, the Coq au bloody Vin in Paris, the exquisite need to keep his chin up. She’d had silence and telegrams, no touch of it, a pure absence that hadn’t ended. Paris was the last time Ivar was seen by any of them. Why had it had to have been Douglas who’d got the last look? Her mother had had all the letters, even the last, that arrived after the telegram. Enid had nothing of his to remember him by except Douglas’ unbearable stories. Nothing. Not even Fagus could bring himself to look like him. “Will you have more?” She held the spoon.

Douglas patted his stomach. “Full to rafters. Marvellous. I say, it is good to see you looking brighter.”

And there, he did it again, every reference, every word brought her back to where she was. Brighter from what? From watching her child curl into darkness? “Why don’t we move through. Can I get you a brandy? I could rub your shoulders.”

Douglas took to every touch and move and offering of crystal glass as if he accepted her new mood unquestioningly, as if this were a new beginning. In the sitting room she stood behind his chair. It was a comfortable, jolly room – a lovely big window with long window seat, a round table cluttered with photographs of his family, a rich warm rug from Persia on the floor, two easy armchairs by the fire, and an assortment of little put-me-up tables that held his things and hers. He kicked off his shoes. After he’d taken a few sips of brandy, she rubbed her thumbs in circles over his neck, digging down under his shirt to the skin of his back, softly moving her hands until he sighed.

She let go. “Do you know, I think I’ll retire. Do you mind?” Her fingers trailed from his shoulders and rested for a moment on his arm.

“You must be jolly tired with all that cooking.”

“I didn’t cook it.”

“No, but all the – you know. Lovely dinner.”

“It was a pleasure. Goodnight, then.” She paused for a second to see if he’d look. Perhaps she’d have to keep this up all week.

But no. She’d only just slipped into her best nightgown when the knock came on the door. She made sure she was looking as pretty as possible. Douglas came in to see her propped on the pillow with lace undone about her collar bone. “I say,” he said.