As soon as breakfast was over, Helen went back to her room and hurriedly packed her belongings. She wanted to leave Montcalm now, and go back to the unconfusing tranquillity of Oxford.

Just as she was finishing, Pansy came in. Hobbs was coming to collect her to take her to London, and she had insisted that she could perfectly well make the little detour necessary to drop Helen off in Oxford.

‘Enjoy the Ball?’ Pansy asked.

‘Yes, in the end. I met Oliver’s brother.’

Pansy brushed the fine hair back from her forehead in a weary gesture. ‘My head. Did you? It seems a pity, really.’

‘What?’

‘Well, that they weren’t born the other way round. He’s not exactly a match for Oliver, is he?’

Helen chose not to pursue that.

‘Did you have a good time?’

Pansy shrugged. ‘Oliver set out to be impossible, and duly was. But there were other people who weren’t just country hearties, and it was nice to be with Tom.’

‘Yes,’ Helen said a little shortly. ‘I’m sure.’

Friends, she thought grimly, we hardly seem to speak the same language.

Pansy was going. ‘Hobbs is already here. I’m ready to leave when you are.’

Their bags were carried down and stowed in the white Rolls. Hobbs was standing at the door in his peaked cap.

Helen was amused by the finely gauged difference in the farewells which Lord and Lady Montcalm gave to herself and Pansy. Helen was dismissed with the briefest handshake and the suggestion of a smile. For Pansy there was almost an embrace, and a cordial invitation to come and stay again. She winked at Helen from the cover of the door.

Oliver and Tom were standing on the steps. Oliver wrapped his arms round Pansy and rubbed his cheek against her hair.

‘Forgiven?’ he murmured. Pansy looked faintly impatient.

‘Sure thing.’

He kissed her and she smiled at him, but Helen had the impression that her mind was somewhere else.

Helen turned to Tom. She wanted to murmur ‘sorry,’ but he was watching Pansy too. In the end, when he did look at her, she simply said, ‘Goodbye,’ surprised at the coolness in her voice. Their eyes didn’t meet.

Hobbs was holding the door open and Helen was almost into the car when Darcy ran down the steps. His hand touched her arm.

‘Where do you live?’ he asked abruptly. Helen paused, half in and half out of the Rolls. Darcy’s homely, stolid face was almost eager. Behind him she could see Tom, imperviously ironic, and Oliver’s amused stare.

Deliberately, she said, ‘At Follies House. Beside the river in Oxford.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I know it. I’ll … come and see you.’

Helen ducked into the car and the door closed.