When he left for his consulting rooms in the morning she feigned sleep. Then she dressed, took a taxi back to her own flat and sat in front of the mirror. Beneath the camouflage of her fringe the red line had faded. She had been able to cover it successfully for shots of clothes and accessories. But the French contract required close-up pictures of her face. She could not afford to delay much longer. She rang Tom.

‘You can’t go away,’ he said, exasperated. ‘We’re all set to do your new beaded collection with Saul. He’s wild about it, and he’s going to be hopping mad if you dodge the interviews and the television and the promotion in the States.’

‘I’ll be back in time.’

‘But we have a meeting with him next Monday. What do I say about that?’

‘Tell him I’ve got mumps, and I might be infectious.’

‘Tell him yourself,’ Tom said.

‘Oh, come off it, Tom. I haven’t missed a day’s shooting or a conference in months, even while Mother was so ill. I’m never late, and I don’t scream at the photographer when he’s taken five hundred pictures where ten would do. I don’t throw tantrums or say I’ve got a headache or my period, and then flounce off the set. You can get me off the hook this one time.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Away.’

‘Is this something I should know about? Should I be alarmed? Are you and Edward—?’

She laughed and rang off. And then the reality struck her with force. What had she been thinking of? Tom was right. She had responsibilities here in London, in Paris, in the States. And Edward, too, was right. She had tried to pretend that Anthony did not matter. But now she was not sure if she could see him. She had battled for months to get him out of her mind, to recover from the humiliation and the havoc and the pain he had caused her. He would certainly be at the wedding. And he would not have changed. She sat on the bed, her childish excitement evaporating as she thought things through. If George had agreed to come with her she would have felt safer, more confident. But he had turned his back already on what remained of his long and unhappy family life. There was only Edward left for her to rely on, and he did not want her to go. It was better all round that Hannah and Lars should come to London later – they would love that. She glanced up at the top of the wardrobe where she kept her suitcases, and shrugged. Her life was here in London and there was no sense in opening old wounds, going back to torment herself with dreams that could never be.

Chapter 31

Kenya, March 1966