“Yes, Guy,” she confirmed in a tone of exaggerated patience. “I’ve gone over all the arrangements with Cook and Babbit. We shall be waiting for you in the lake pavilion. Have a successful morning.”

He hesitated a moment before saying, “If I haven’t already told you how much I appreciate your doing this, Petra, I’ll say it now. You are a superb hostess. You have everything at your fingertips.”

“Even suffragists can be capable hostesses,” she murmured, keeping her eyes firmly closed. If she’d hoped for a response she was disappointed as she heard the door close behind him.

Petra lay back against the pillows. Things were still far from right between them. If they had been, the old Guy would have responded to her teasing provocation in some lighthearted way. She sighed, contemplating the rest of the day to be spent entirely in the company of politicians’ wives. A day of pure tedium, she thought, but tomorrow there would be some leavening. Guy had invited some of the local prominent families for lunch which would dilute the company somewhat. And after that it would all be over and who knew what the immediate future would hold.

She lay down again, closing her eyes. She knew exactly what she wanted the very immediate future to hold. A day at the seaside, alone, revisiting a childhood haunt and the rich memories of carefree days. Ashton Court was only a few miles from Weston-super-Mare, at the mouth of the Severn Estuary. The pier was a children’s paradise, with its theatre and magicians and little trinket stalls. There was usually a band playing either on the pier or in the bandstand on the beach. It would be too cold to swim, but the sandy beach was always lovely. She could get fish and chips from the little café on the beach and eat them in the beach pavilion. A day just to herself where she could let her thoughts go where they would and maybe find some peace in the present turmoil of her mind.

* * *

Just before noon Petra and her guests climbed into carriages and pony traps and were driven across the estate to the lake with its open-sided pavilion. Babbit was supervising footmen, who were laying out lunch for the guests. There was a brisk breeze coming off the lake but no one seemed troubled by it. The women were all dressed in furs and several braziers had been lit in the pavilion. Hot soup simmered on trivets over spirit lamps, and platters of cold roasted chickens, ham, and game pies covered the long white-clothed tables. Bottles of wine were arrayed on a table to one side, together with decanters of sweet sherry, whisky and cognac for those who needed spirituous warming.