‘We must tell Mama,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should do that together.’

‘And we must send for Mrs Fender from the village to come and lay him out properly,’ said Fran. ‘Oh, Rupert, how we’ll all miss him.’

Rupert saw now that tears were beginning to slip down her cheeks and he went and put his arms round her, to comfort them both.

After a while she pulled free and, taking her hankie out of her pocket, blew her nose. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘at least he knew that Kitty is expecting. He knew that the future he wanted was taken care of. He was pleased about that.’

Rupert nodded and, with the flick of a thought to the letter lying in his desk, said, ‘Yes, I know.’

Together they went to see their mother in her parlour. Amabel was sitting in her usual chair by the fire and looked pleased to see them as they came in.

‘Have you come to take me down to lunch?’ she asked. ‘I told Mrs Crowley I’d come down today. I want to see Justin.’

‘No, Mama,’ Fran said softly. ‘I think you’re having your lunch up here today. Justin’s out.’

‘Is he? Well, perhaps, then, you’ll tell Mrs Crowley that I’ve changed my mind. I will have my lunch up here.’

‘Mama,’ Rupert said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some sad news.’

‘Have you, dear?’

‘You know Papa has been very ill—’ he began.

‘I told you to put red flannel on his chest,’ interrupted his mother.

‘We did that, Mama,’ interposed Frances, ‘but it didn’t do any good. Dear Papa passed away this morning.’

‘Passed away?’ echoed Amabel.

‘Yes, Mama,’ said Fran.

‘Passed away,’ repeated her mother. ‘Poor Philip.’

For a moment none of them spoke and then Amabel turned to Rupert. ‘You will tell Mrs Crowley about lunch, Rupert, won’t you?’

‘Of course, Mama,’ he replied, and then he and Frances left her sitting contentedly in her chair, gazing into the fire.

‘We’ve lost them both now,’ Fran said sadly as they closed the door behind them. ‘Mama isn’t Mama any more. Now there’s only you and me.’

‘And Kitty,’ Rupert reminded her. ‘I must go and break the news to Kitty. Will you send for Mrs Fender?’ Fran said she would, and they parted in the hall.

With his father’s death and all the arrangements that had to be made about the funeral, Kitty’s continued sickness and his mother’s disconnection from the world, Rupert had little time to give further thought to Annette’s letter and what it might indicate. It was not at the forefront of his mind, but neither did it rest quietly at the back. In moments alone, her words slid forward into his consciousness: I hope you feel as sick as I do at the thought of her being married to M. Barnier. And he did. His instinct had been to rush over to France, to see Hélène… And what? His saner, more sensible self enquired. Ask her not to marry Simon Barnier? Hardly. No, such a journey would achieve nothing, nothing but to open old wounds for both of them; and it was too late. In her letter Annette had said Hélène was getting married next week. Taking into consideration the time Annette’s letter had taken to reach him and the time he must give to respect his father’s passing, it was almost certain that Hélène was now married and they were each beyond the reach of the other.