I unwrap the plants Duncan has brought up from the farm. There is still so much to do. I dig the holes for the peas with my fingers, my nails drilling the malleable earth. I look beyond the garden to the horizon. Firle Hill stands before me, its great curving mound deserted. There is no one I can confide in. I am like the captain of a ship who must bear all the consequences of his actions alone. Sometimes, as I lie in bed at night, I seem to hear the intermingled breathing of all those who depend on me. I must sail my ship to safety. A wasp buzzes round my face and I flap it away. I have not had time to bury the rotting fruit from last year’s crop that lies heaped in the orchard. I finish my peas and wipe my soiled hands on my skirt. It is time to give the children their French lesson. Then I will prepare a soup for when Duncan and Bunny return ravenous and exhausted from their work. I stand up, and as I do so, become aware of a sudden distant booming. I realize with a start that it is the sound of gunfire. This is the first time I have heard the war. My anguished cry sends the rooks in the elms into frenzied flight.

You visit with Leonard. I am in the sitting room, painting the tiles round the fireplace when you arrive. I have spent the morning gardening and my clothes are stained with mud. I have given the children a half-day’s holiday, and as I work I listen to Julian and Quentin storming the remains of the shrubbery with homemade guns. I wipe my hands hastily on a rag. You are wearing a deep-blue dress with a wide neckline that I recognize as one of the Omega designs from Roger’s workshop. I clear a space for the two of you to sit down and disappear into the kitchen to make tea.

When I return you are alone, examining the tiles I have been painting. I place the tray of tea on the floor between us.

“Leonard has gone to find the boys,” you say by way of explanation. You gesture toward one of the tiles. “Is this meant to be the sea?”

I stare at the image you point to, trying to dismiss my nagging thought that I should go after Leonard and round up the boys. I know he believes I am too indulgent toward them, that they would benefit from tighter control.

“I suppose I was thinking about the sea, though of course it was the color and pattern I had most clearly in mind.”

You consider my answer.

“So if you weren’t thinking about a particular seascape, what did you intend this mark to be here?” You draw your finger along a straight black line down the center of the tile. “I had assumed it was a lighthouse.”