Eventually he staggered to the bedroom. She rolled him into bed and threw the blankets over him. Though she was exhausted, she didn’t climb in beside him. What was the point? The children would be up soon, and anyway he stank of vomit and piss and gin and shame. Instead she turned for the door. The sound of her name stopped her.

“What is it? Do you need something else?”

Sasha stared at her with bleary blue eyes. His cheeks were streaked with tears. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me tomorrow.”

Sasha shook his head painfully and beckoned her close. “Can’t wait.”

Iris trudged back to the bed. He crooked his finger and she leaned a little closer, though the stench of him turned her stomach.

“Well?”

“I slept with Ruth.”

Iris’s head jerked. She stepped back. “What did you say?”

“The night you were in the hospital, after the accident. The first night. And the one after that. Maybe another time? I can’t remember, sort of blurs together now. Not sure why, it just happened.”

For some reason, Iris didn’t feel anything at all. The night had numbed her—so many shocks—this was just another one. It just happened, he’d said. Maybe it was a dream. She tilted her head and stared at him as if he were a foreign object in her bed, a bug or something.

“It was you I really wanted,” he said. “If that makes any difference.”

Iris lifted her hand and slapped him once on the cheek. His head snapped back and he smiled at her, pleased. She slapped him again and walked away—returned to the bathroom and cleaned up the mess—he’d aimed for the toilet, at least, and mostly succeeded—while she ran a hot bath.

AUNT VIVIAN SLEPT UNTIL eleven, and Sasha stayed in bed until nearly three in the afternoon. The weather had turned drizzly again, and Philip telephoned just after lunch to update Iris on Davenport’s condition.

“He’ll be all right,” Philip reassured her. “Spiral fracture of the left tibia.”

“Whatever that means.”

“It means he’ll be all right. Your husband can thank his stars he attacked a military man who knows his duty. He’s not pressing charges, nor filing a report. I’ve received assurances from Abingdon and the local constabulary.”

“You’re an angel. I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“Believe me, I’m not doing it for Digby’s sake.”

Iris lowered her voice. “I don’t deserve you, Philip.”

“You’ve got me anyway. Let me know how you’re getting on, all right?”

Iris hung up the phone and returned to the study, which had been put to rights without comment by Mrs. Betts. Jack asked whether Daddy was sick, and Kip said, “No, stupid. He’s just drunk.”

“Kip!” Iris exclaimed.

Tiny put a consoling arm around Kip. “My daddy gets drunk, too.”