Arthur and Jack weren’t back yet. They must still be messing about outside with the stupid motorbike. It made her nervous, the thought of them on the machine together. The excitement she’d felt earlier lingered but it was souring. She slipped off to the powder room and inspected her reflection in the glass. She smoothed her hair and wiped a few dots of black from under her eyes where the rain had streaked her mascara and reapplied her lipstick. In the mirror she saw that her hand was shaking. They would surely be back by midnight. What was she so het up about? It was Jack’s eyes when he looked right through the arbour to where she stood. In his eyes a challenge – but a challenge to what? Maybe she was imagining it. It had been half dark and she’d drunk too much. But she couldn’t get it out of her head, that he was taunting her, daring her to respond. And now Arthur was out in the darkness with this madman. And she couldn’t help but feel that she’d brought it all about herself.

*

Jack swerved, braked suddenly and veered right, inland. The lanes curled along the edges of fields, deeper into the countryside. Arthur was tired. He thought of Verity back in the garden of the Hall, her face damp with rain, droplets in her hair. He imagined her dancing, the blue dress creating an arc around her, another man touching her bare arms.

Jack turned his head to say something. With a high hedge blocking the wind, Arthur caught the words, ‘You keen on Verity Frost?’

He clenched his jaw. ‘No!’ he shouted, without thinking.