They had carpets, too, with a pattern of full-blown pink roses favoured by the nouveau. As someone who had rushed to prove just how modern she was Vivian felt a surprising flush of sympathy for the Owens. She wanted to tell them it was a disastrous thing, being too new.

Instead all she said was, ‘It’s a very pleasant room, so many interesting things to look at.’

The place was rather packed. The grand piano wore a shawl; it looked like something someone had picked up in an Eastern bazaar. Gilt frames cluttered the walls, drawing attention to average-looking non-descript family portraits. Little tables were covered with ornaments and photographs of men holding awards, medals or fish, as well as some school groups. Not Westminster, Eton or Harrow; a provincial public school. Vivian nodded towards the mantelpiece, which displayed a number of silver sporting trophies. ‘How marvellous,’ she gushed.

‘Aubrey has always been a source of great pride and pleasure.’ She heard the warning in Lady Owen’s voice and understood the part that wasn’t articulated. A pretty girl without a title and from a family of diminishing fortune: was it all they had hoped for? Had they imagined he might have done better? Did they regret that she’d caught his eye and that he was determined to fix upon her?

Aubrey Owens was alerted to their arrival and entered the drawing room with a display of assurance and eagerness. He addressed all his attention towards Mrs Foster, which showed manners but not style. After just fifteen minutes and a bitter coffee, the mothers made excuses to leave; there was a book in the library Lady Owens assured Mrs Foster was worth a look. The door was left ajar. Vivian imagined them hovering in the next room, desperate to put a glass to the wall but not quite daring to.

They were alone together.

It was not the proposal she had imagined. He offered it tentatively. Almost shamefaced. He probably thought it was a no go. How was she to accept when even he didn’t think she ought? She supposed he was the sort who expected to hang around long enough to wear one down; if she agreed straight away, as she must, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself, what to do with her. He did not expect magnificence and therefore could not be expected to value it when he’d stumbled upon it. Vivian felt a bit sorry for him.

‘Yes.’

‘You will?’

‘I said so, didn’t I.’

AUGUST 1914

10

‘I THINK IT all went off rather splendidly,’ commented Mrs Foster as she lowered herself delicately into the chair. She unpinned her hat and took her heels out of her shoes, although she did not discard them altogether; it would not do if the maid came in to be found in stockinged feet.

‘Oh yes,’ mumbled Mr Foster. ‘Very pleasant.’ He sighed and fell into his chair with considerably more heaviness than his wife. ‘I can’t help thinking this Aubrey fellow isn’t especially keen on her.’