‘I simply don’t understand,’ said Julia rather sharply. I looked at her. All the gentle mockery had gone; she was alert, almost scared, it seemed. ‘Of course, Rex and I want her to come.’

‘Oh, yes, I don’t doubt that. The difficulty is quite otherwise.’ He finished his port, refilled his glass, and pushed the decanter towards me. ‘You must understand that Beryl is a woman of strict Catholic principle fortified by the prejudices of the middle class. I couldn’t possibly bring her here. It is a matter of indifference whether you choose to live in sin with Rex or Charles or both – I have always avoided inquiry into the details of your ménage – but in no case would Beryl consent to be your guest.’

Julia rose. ‘Why, you pompous ass…’ she said, stopped, and turned towards the door.

At first I thought she was overcome by laughter; then, as I opened the door to her, I saw with consternation that she was in tears. I hesitated. She slipped past me without a glance.

‘I may have given the impression that this was a marriage of convenience,’ Brideshead continued placidly. ‘I cannot speak for Beryl; no doubt the security of my position has some influence on her. Indeed, she has said as much. But for myself, let me emphasize, I am ardently attracted.’

‘Bridey, what a bloody offensive thing to say to Julia!’

‘There was nothing she should object to. I was merely stating a fact well known to her.’

—

She was not in the library; I mounted to her room, but she was not there. I paused by her laden dressing table wondering if she would come. Then through the open window, as the light streamed out across the terrace into the dusk, to the fountain which in that house seemed always to draw us to itself for comfort and refreshment, I caught the glimpse of a white skirt against the stones. It was nearly night. I found her in the darkest refuge, on a wooden seat, in a bay of the clipped box which encircled the basin. I took her in my arms and she pressed her face to my heart.

‘Aren’t you cold out here?’

She did not answer, only clung closer to me, and shook with sobs.

‘My darling, what is it? Why do you mind? What does it matter what that old booby says?’

‘I don’t; it doesn’t. It’s just the shock. Don’t laugh at me.’

In the two years of our love, which seemed a lifetime, I had not seen her so moved or felt so powerless to help.

‘How dare he speak to you like that?’ I said. ‘The cold-blooded old humbug…’ But I was failing her in sympathy.

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not that. He’s quite right. They know all about it, Bridey and his widow; they’ve got it in black and white; they bought it for a penny at the church door. You can get anything there for a penny, in black and white, and nobody to see that you pay; only an old woman with a broom at the other end, rattling round the confessionals, and a young woman lighting a candle at the Seven Dolours. Put a penny in the box, or not, just as you like; take your tract. There you’ve got it, in black and white.