He would go. ‘All right.’

‘That’s the ticket.’

14

‘WILL YOU JOIN up?’ Vivian had asked as soon as Britain declared war.

‘Of course, no question. I feel I ought, that I might as well.’ He had not reflected for a moment how such a declaration sounded to his wife of a single day. He’d shrugged and added, ‘Everyone is.’

‘Absolutely, you must do your duty.’ She’d smiled, patriotism first.

A few days later he’d commented, ‘Some women are extremely angry with their husbands for signing up, I hear.’

‘Are they? How selfish.’

‘You’d be proud if I went?’

‘Of course.’ And she would be no less alone with him gone. Thoughtlessly she’d asked, ‘Do you think you’ll pass the medical?’

He’d looked shocked. ‘Absolutely, why wouldn’t I?’

‘You read such a lot. Your eyesight . . .’ She’d trailed off, not sure how to express herself delicately. She somehow intrinsically associated Aubrey with disappointment. It would be dreadfully shaming if he didn’t get in.

‘I was in the Officers’ Training Corps at school, you know.’ She had not known that. She knew very little about him. She did know of the Officers’ Training Corps, though, because her younger brother Toby was desperate to join as soon as he was old enough. All boys wanted to play at being soldiers, naturally. ‘The headmaster told us on Speech Day that “If a man can’t serve his country, he’s better dead”,’ added Aubrey firmly.

‘The matter is unequivocal, then.’ Men held much store by what they were told as boys at school. Women didn’t have an equivalent guiding force.

‘Yes.’ Aubrey had glanced at her, and for a moment she’d almost thought there was something in his face that was willing her to contradict him, ask him to stay by her side, but she must have been mistaken; why would he want her to contradict him? Could he want to hear that she needed him? Or that she’d miss him? It was impossible. She turned the conversation. ‘I bought a new bag. It’s navy moiré with a velvet drawstring and is decorated with orange roses. It’s quite divine. I’m not sure when I’ll use it.’

Their life, the house, was exactly as her mother had hoped it would be, as society thought it ought to be and she’d feared it might be. It turned out she’d married without the least idea about anything. Of course no one ever realised they were clueless – by the very nature of being so – until it was too late. She thought perhaps all the time invested in her deportment lessons and art classes might have been better spent; retrospectively she didn’t believe it was any sort of preparation for married life.

They’d moved in with Aubrey’s parents. He stated it was just a temporary arrangement, until after Christmas, when all this war business was behind them. His father was a shadowy figure who spent most of his time at his club; left alone together, his mother and Vivian performed a wary, polite dance around one another. There was no natural affection or common ground between them as there had been between her and Lady Thorpe; they were each grateful when the other was occupied. It was rather a shame. Vivian wished her mother-in-law would take her under her wing, tutor her, fill in the yawning gaps. The position of mother figure was eternally open in her life. She had no idea what things cost, or how to behave with the servants or neighbours; her sewing was basic, her ability to balance accounts questionable. Where did one buy curtains? She had no idea how to be, either alone or with him. She was a wife, but what did that mean?