“But you still live with Mangan’s family, back in Bloomsbury?” I ask, though in truth I know. I have seen Mangan several times since the end of the war. It is true, he has suffered some lasting damage to his health, but his time in the countryside has restored him a little. He is trying to work again, I know, but people have long memories. He and Gudrun are no longer fashionable, he for his stand against the war, she simply for being German.

“Where else would I go? Mangan is trying to sculpt again. The work is really too heavy for him now. I have told him he should work in something lighter, something smaller, but, ach, you know Mangan. When did he ever listen to reason? Perry is busy doing whatever it is Perry does. Jane feeds people. The children make noise. All as if the war never was.”

“Except that it was.”

“Yes. It was.” She tips her head back and downs her champagne, and then waves the empty glass at a distant waiter to summon more. “I hear you are getting married, Beauty.”

“Yes. Next month.”

“Poor Artist, have you forgotten him completely?”

“Of course not.”

“So, in this case, you will be coming to his exhibition next week.”

“Bram has an exhibition here? In London?” I cannot keep the breathlessness out of my voice. Bram. Here. And painting again!

“At the Dauntless Gallery in Cork Street. I’m surprised he has not sent you an invitation to the private view. But, of course he won’t mind if you just turn up anyway. Perhaps you could bring your fiancé.”

I am too distracted to rise to Gudrun’s provocation. Bram. Here. In London. Most likely staying at Mangan’s house. I experience a piercing stab of jealousy at the thought of him spending time with Gudrun but not with me. But then, that is utterly ridiculous. I was the one who did not go to the station as I had promised him I would do, five years and a lifetime ago. I was the one who fell silent, who turned away. Why should he contact me ever again? Why would he think to come and see me or to send me an invitation to his show? Why would he? And even if he did, I could not accept. I am engaged to Louis. My life is moving on, and it would be wrong to pretend otherwise, to him or to myself. It is true times have changed. Perhaps there are not the same barriers between us that there once were. But some remain. I am still a witch. Bram is not. No, I cannot see him or go to see his paintings, much as I admit I long to do so. In a few weeks’ time I will be Lady Lilith Harcourt, Countess of Winchester, and there is an end to it.

Chapter 25

25.