Bunny’s defection changes nothing, except that now Duncan pursues his love affairs away from home. My life while Duncan is gone revolves around the post. In the mornings, the leap of hope as I watch the postman carry his bag up the drive. Racing to the hall to scrutinize the pile of envelopes, praying that today there will be one in Duncan’s hand. Ripping the letter open and skimming it quickly to see if the general purport is good or bad. Reading the lines more slowly, poring over them until I have learned them by heart. Carrying them round with me, while I work in the garden, as I paint, trying to penetrate any hidden signals. The words twisting and gibing in my mind until I no longer know whether “I hope you are happy” means “I am blissfully in love and do not need you” or whether it means “I miss you and will come home to you soon.” The joy and ordeal of replying. I sit at the table and get out my paper and pen. I smooth the paper flat, letting the movement still my mind. I never write until I am calm. Only then do I trust myself to set down words that will not frighten, will not beg. I make my phrases as neutral as I can. News of the house, Angelica, mutual friends, all the things we share. I dare not express the thoughts that wash round my head, admit my loneliness and yearning. Instead I talk about the roses, a new mural in the hall. I offer the lures of home, whatever temptations I can conjure to persuade Duncan to return.

There is the day a letter comes full of foreboding. A doctor has diagnosed typhoid. I have scarcely finished reading before I am flying round the house, throwing clothes and wash things into bags. All I can think of as I grasp Angelica by the hand and hurry to the station is that I must get to Duncan as quickly as I can. Images of Thoby beat in my head. As we take our seats in the train, I see reflections of Thoby’s coffin in the grimy carriage windows. Angelica huddles close to her nurse, frightened of the mother I have become. We cross the channel, make our way to Paris, yet even here I dare not stop. I force us on, weary and dazed, terrified in case I arrive too late.