Stephen and Beatrice stood side by side in the lighted doorway to wave. They were laughing and Beatrice had taken her husband’s hand. Stephen hoisted Sebastian up on to his shoulders and the little boy flapped his hands excitedly. They were neatly framed by the dark shape of the house with its warm yellow windows.

Chloe spun the wheel sharply and her car shot forward, the headlights raking a long tunnel through the dusk to the gates. Only when they were past the stone eagles did she breathe out a single long breath. She had been gripped by a pang of jealousy so acute that she could think of nothing but getting away from the house. Everything in it spoke of Beatrice and Stephen’s fifteen years together. Its walls were lined with pictures they had chosen, the worn, comfortable furniture had accumulated around them, and the rooms were full of the clamour of their children.

In her mind’s eye Chloe saw Beatrice sitting calmly in the middle of it all, her dark head bent over her sewing.

Suddenly it seemed that she had everything Chloe wanted.

Even though Stephen’s fingertips had touched hers as he guided her around the house, even though he had held her in his arms and murmured into her hair in the deserted kitchen, it meant nothing. He belonged to Beatrice.

Chloe thought of her own life without pleasure. Before it had been all self-indulgence, leading nowhere. Now, at Oxford, it was lonely and empty – except for Stephen.

And she wanted Stephen even more, now that his inaccessibility had been revealed. Suddenly he seemed more attractive than anyone else in the world, and more important.

Then there was Beatrice.

Chloe’s fingers tightened on the wheel and she stared intently ahead into the darkness. Could she … would she take Stephen away from her? Like a little dark fish the thought flicked out, then darted back into the sea of her subconscious. Gratefully, Chloe let it go. There was no point in pursuing it now, she told herself easily.

Beside her, Helen sat immobile. Chloe put her own preoccupations aside for a moment.

‘Did you say what you wanted to Oliver? You were gone a long time.’

‘Yes. He said I was very clear-sighted, and he would stop feeling guilty at once. And he said he hated post-mortems. He didn’t want to talk about it, either, I suppose.’

‘Simple for him.’

Helen sighed. ‘Then he asked me to stay at Montcalm, after Christmas.’

Chloe looked round, surprised. ‘No, really? Helen, you’ve just got to go. Think of how grand it’ll be.’

Helen smiled sadly. ‘I’d rather not. Chloe, I’m such a fool. I thought he was asking just me. But it’s to make up a party. With Tom … and Pansy.’

Chloe’s face flooded with sympathy, and her hand closed over Helen’s and squeezed it.