Once the butler had left her on her own, Belle stepped across to the shuttered windows, threw them open and surveyed the garden beyond. Enclosed by walls on three sides, all festooned with a riot of bright-purple bougainvillea, the garden itself was small but tranquil. In the middle a trickle of water suggested a fountain, though it looked unkempt and neglected. Birds swooped from tree to tree but the breeze ruffling their leaves wasn’t enough to reach her stiflingly hot room. Although she’d enjoyed the river trip, she realized it had lulled her into a false sense of security. She’d almost forgotten what she was here to do and now it was time to meet the archaeologist, a certain Dr Walter Guttridge.

35.

Diana, the Cotswolds, 1922

Douglas stands by the gate and I see he is stooped, staring at the ground beneath his feet as if in contemplation. I walk to him and he straightens up but still avoids my eyes.

‘Well,’ I say. ‘This is it.’

‘Indeed,’ he replies, and now he looks at me.

I glance at his beautiful eyes. They are deep dark pools of confusion. Not harsh or severe, just rather lost. I see he is holding his emotions in, and there will be no sentimental farewell. I long to embrace him, for him to enfold me in his arms and for us to recapture the way we used to be. But it cannot be. Those days are gone. He has become good at hiding and now my husband is sprung so tightly he dares not allow himself to feel.

He grasps my hand and squeezes, then he lets go and steps back. I do what he expects me to do and I walk out of the gate wordlessly, without looking back, and without making a scene.

It’s a glorious June day, the sky extraordinarily blue, and the sun tinting the tops of the clouds with silver and gold. I am silent at first as we begin the drive, unable to speak to Simone, but eventually I relax. We pass a riot of different greens still lacy with new life, drystone walls lining the road and far-reaching views across the Cotswolds, where fields dotted with sheep butt up against meadows in which horses nuzzle the fences. We make two stops at roadside inns to enable the car to cool down and to feed it with water and petrol. At one stop Simone encourages me to leave the car and take the air, but I remain where I am, so instead she brings me a cool lemonade and a sandwich for lunch.