‘You should have seen the look on Mother’s face when I told her I took a turn around the track at Brooklands,’ Captain Mandeville said, striking a match against the hearth. He lit his cigarette before throwing the spent match into the flames. ‘Imagine if I had told her about my plans to invest in Hugh Locke King’s new venture. A flying school.’

Lady Mandeville’s shoulders drew back as though controlled by elastic. ‘Why do you delight in tormenting me, Thomas?’ she said. ‘I still can’t understand why Ethel would allow Hugh to build that awful track across the beautiful grounds at Brooklands House. I can’t imagine anything worse than hordes of people traipsing across your garden every weekend to watch cars, of all things, speeding around your land. It’s quite awful. Promise me, Charles, that you will never consider turning this land over to such a … a ghastly pursuit.’

‘A ghastly pursuit!’ Captain Mandeville laughed, responding on his father’s behalf. ‘It’s called progress, Mother. The way I see it, Hugh has stolen the march on the rest of us. None of us can rest on our laurels. We must all look for new ways to make our lands viable. Lame elephants soon find themselves in the hunter’s sights.’

Lady Mandeville patted her neck. ‘Must everything come down to money with you men? Where is the harm in preserving our homes just as they are? I honestly believe that all of these ideas are just fads. New playthings to amuse you.’

Captain Mandeville’s jaw clenched, and his good-natured banter evaporated along with his cigarette smoke. In a movement mimicking his father, he ran his finger and thumb from his nostrils down to the corners of his mouth as though stroking an imaginary moustache.

‘As I understand it,’ Mrs Hart said, ‘the building of the racetrack was as much Ethel’s idea as it was Hugh’s. She is a forward-thinking woman. Frederick thought so. He was very fond of Ethel and Hugh. He always looked forward to our trips to their parties at Weybridge, and Hugh and Ethel were so kind to me when Fred …’ Her voice trailed away.

Sir Charles, who had sat impassively throughout the exchanges, waved for Bainbridge to refresh Mrs Hart’s glass.

‘Weybridge is on my way back to camp, Aunt Leo,’ Captain Mandeville said gently. ‘I’ll stop in at Brooklands to give the Locke Kings your regards.’

‘Thank you, Tom,’ Mrs Hart said quietly.

‘Oh, Thomas,’ Lady Mandeville said. ‘How can you talk about leaving, when you have only just returned? Won’t you consider resigning your commission? Ten years in the army is surely long enough. You do know that Lewis retired earlier this year, and that your father has yet to replace him. There is nobody better placed than you to take over as estate manager. Nobody knows Hill House and its land as well as you.’

Sir Charles sat forward. He cleared his throat, and his family all turned to him. ‘Thomas is his own man,’ he said. That was it, short and to the point. He said what he had to say succinctly, leaving no room for interpretation or ambiguity.