Much later, after the fire brigade had left and the staff had gone to bed, Stephen stood with Ginie surveying the wreckage of their beautiful hall. It was ankle deep in dirty water, the furniture was ruined, and the long red damask curtains had shrunk to half their normal size.

‘I don’t care about it, really, as long as you’re alright!’ said Ginie, her eyes moistening. ‘While you were on the roof, I kept thinking what I would do if anything happened to you and I just couldn’t bear it.’

Stephen put his arms around her. ‘You’re not to worry. I’m fine, it’s over now.’

Walking around the smouldering grounds at daybreak, they were glad to discover that some beauty remained intact – the orchids were still alive, despite huge holes in the glasshouses and shards of broken glass everywhere. Like the Courtaulds, they were survivors.

They secured the wrecked roofs of the great hall and the glasshouses with temporary coverings and carried on as best they could. They hoped to be able to repair the damage properly after the war, provided the Germans didn’t hit them again, for Eltham was taking a beating. In the weeks that followed, scores of bombs fell on the palace grounds, though none on the house.

Stephen had the stern, puritan blood of his Huguenot ancestors running through his veins and bore the attacks with quiet stoicism, but it was too much for Ginie. She was worn down by the sound of enemy planes, flinching every time one droned overhead. She, who had always loved fast cars, now could not tolerate speeds of more than fifteen miles an hour. She couldn’t even walk to the shops without sweating. She began to have nightmares, waking up night after night to battle imaginary flames. Stephen saw her become increasingly like a creature in a cage, hurling itself against the bars. He needed to do something. Fast.

23 Ginie, Scotland, 1940s

23

Ginie, Scotland, 1940s

Ginie woke from a dream of swimming in the sea, paddling towards a sun-drenched shore that kept getting further away the harder she tried to reach it. She woke with a start and for a moment, didn’t know where she was. Low, autumn sun crept through the bedroom windows, illuminating the checked curtains. A jolt of recognition: Scotland. She buried her head in the pillow, trying to hold onto the final fragments of her dream as they slipped away.