Margaret God, Christopher …

Christopher Penny told the story, to each of us in turn with the same patient detail. The top mother-of-pearl button was ripped from his waistcoat. In his left hand he was clutching the fob of his watch – a violet amethyst he brought back years ago from his time in the Congo. And he must have put up a ferocious fight because in his right hand he had a clump of his attacker’s hair. Black hair. Curly.

Margaret Oh, my God.

Christopher She told the story to each of us in turn with the same patient detail and with such pride in his courage that the faded green eyes suddenly gleamed again. As if all the humiliations – damn it, the physical violence – the old bastard inflicted on her for over fifty years had never happened. And she was the pert and intrepid little Penny Pasco again who came over here from Devonshire all those years ago, full of joy and expectation. Such a gallant woman she is. There isn’t a list, Margaret, is there?

Margaret Of course there isn’t.

Christopher Of course there isn’t. Just an isolated, barbarous incident.

Margaret Lifford was a very ugly creature, Christopher. Even his own people hated him.

Christopher I didn’t. I never liked him, but I didn’t hate him. And I love this place so much, Margaret. This is the only home I’ve ever known.

Margaret I know that.

Christopher At this time of year Penny used to spend days on end here, picking fruit; herself and Lucy, rest in peace. Like sisters … before the walled garden went to seed. (suddenly brisk) Rise above, Father always said – rise above – rise above. Where are our guests?

Margaret Gone for a walk.

Christopher Yes?

Margaret Richard wanted to see the ruins of the old Cistercian monastery.

Christopher He’s entranced by you is cousin Richard.

Margaret Christopher!

Christopher Sat gazing at you all through dinner last night. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.

Again he holds her shoulders. Again she eludes him.

Margaret The man was drunk, Christopher.

Christopher He was a little, wasn’t he?

Margaret And I really got an earful of your boyhood escapades in Kent.

Christopher My God, you did, didn’t you! Sorry. So boring, I know. And the truth is I hated being shipped over to the home place every damned summer. Father thought it would make Richard and me close friends.

Margaret And did it?

Christopher D’you know what I discovered last night? All those memories of Kent – they almost made me homesick. What do you make of him?

Margaret A little pompous, maybe?

Christopher He is a bore and a snob and utterly graceless and I have a very soft spot for him. Must have something to do with India itself: everyone who does even a short service there comes home gross. Father was convinced the climate did it.

Margaret I didn’t think he was gross. Just so caught up in his own world. The confirmed bachelor, isn’t he?