In fact, Aunt Marion was so thorough that Margaret had begun to anticipate a rather austere schoolmistress type who regimented her day by following a strict timetable, rising at five and going to bed at eight, who drank only water and thought that cream on her gruel was an frightful extravagance. She could not have been more wrong. There had been an instant rapport between them. Aunt Marion was one of those women whose appetite for life matched her appetite for food. Originally hailing from the Scottish Borders town of Peebles, she had travelled extensively with her diplomat husband, primarily in the Far East. She had a stock of tales, the constitution of an ox, a very dry wit, a pleasing tolerance for foibles, and an abhorrence of hypocrisy. Her notebook, her embroidery frame, and a glass of champagne were her permanent companions. Eccentric and irreverent, Aunt Marion was a maverick who took everything in her stride.

“What is it that is making you smile?” she asked now, closing her notebook and tucking the little silver propelling pencil into its holder.

“If I had been asked to describe the perfect travelling companion,” Margaret said, “it would have been you.”

“Thank you, my dear, but we have barely set foot out of Powerscourt. You should reserve judgement until we have travelled a few more miles together.”

“No, I don’t need to. If I didn’t owe Julia an enormous debt already for taking me in, I would be hugely obliged to her for introducing us.”

“It seems to me that you have more than repaid Julia with your companionship,” Aunt Marion said. “She’s quite come out of her shell, what with getting embroiled in the school and what not. Of course she’ll never be happy until she has a baby of her own to hold in her arms, but knowing that husband of hers—ach, I have no patience with a man who shirks his duty as he does. He should not have married her if he’d doubts about—” She broke off, pursing her lips.

“What on earth do you mean? I didn’t realise you were particularly well acquainted with Lord Powerscourt.”

“I have encountered him several times on his travels abroad. He embroiled Alexander, my husband, in the tracking down of a statue once. In Persia it was, in the early days of my husband’s posting there. Alexander was most put-out to be asked to wield influence he did not truly possess, for he never did rise above the lower ranks in the service. His lack of blue blood was against him, and he was far too reticent to cultivate the right people, you see, but Powerscourt was most insistent. An arrogant man, I have always thought, and a very selfish one—I may say that now that poor Julia is out of earshot. I much prefer the younger brother, Lewis.”

“I have met him, and like him very much,” Margaret said.