Discretion is the better part of valour, and I edged towards the door.

‘I forbid you to go,’ hissed Poppy.

Richard said, ‘This is none of your mother’s business.’

‘It is if I say so.’

Richard grabbed Poppy by the arm. ‘Do you want your mother to watch this? Are we a spectator sport?’

‘Mum stays.’

Richard flushed a dangerous red. ‘I’m out all day earning our bread and I don’t appreciate coming home to a tip and I don’t appreciate…’ he shot me a justifiably nasty look ‘… you indulging in a spot of character assassination with your mother.’

Richard was right. This was their affair, and private. I picked up my bag and beat my retreat. As I shut the front door behind me, I heard Richard say, ‘Poppy, that was unforgivable… How could you do that to me?’ and the sound of her frantic sobbing.

‘Richard, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt you…’

Early the next morning Mazarine phoned. ‘I’ve sold the house. At a loss. But I couldn’t stand it.’

It must have taken a great deal for her to part with such a valuable asset, which in the normal course of events she would have so enjoyed. I stifled a small pang of regret that something so beautiful should drop out of her hands. ‘Dommage,’ she added.

‘You did the best thing.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Without question.’

Mazarine dropped her habitual guard. ‘Rose, I am glad you are my friend.’

‘I’m glad you’re mine.’ We pondered on this pleasurable exchange. In the background there was the sound of banging. ‘Where are you?’

‘In the gallery. The boys are setting up the exhibition. You must come. It’s on the neuro-linguistic implications of rubbish. You’ll love it. You must come and look, really look, and try to understand.’

She sounded relieved and lightened of a burden. I promised to come over in June and wrote the date down in my diary. I also told her the news about Sam and Jilly.

‘Nature abhors a vacuum,’ she said.

I had just put down the phone when someone hammered on the front door. To my surprise it was Sam. He was shocked and out of breath. I ushered him in and shut the door. ‘Mum, thank God you’re here. I couldn’t think of who else to turn to. I need your help. I’ve just been phoned by the hospital in Bath. Alice – apparently – I can’t believe this – she tried to kill herself. The cleaner found her and rang me.’

‘I’ll pack a bag.’

His face cleared. ‘Would you, Mum? I need moral support.’

‘Where are her parents?’

‘In Australia. Holiday. It’ll be a day before they can get back.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I can’t bear to think of Alice on her own.’

The sister on duty at the hospital inquired who we were and when we explained fixed on Sam: ‘I don’t think you should see her.’ However, she was prepared to negotiate with me when I pointed out that there was no one else. ‘There should be someone,’ I said.

Alice had been isolated at the end of the ward in a single room that managed to be both stuffy and chilly at the same time. It smelt of disinfectant and something else… If despair had a physicality, it would have been that.

When I went in she was lying motionless with her face turned to the window. I drew up a hard hospital chair and sat down. ‘Hallo, Alice.’ No answer, and I had a vivid mental picture of the golden, glossy Alice breaking up into pieces. She looked thin and the blonde hair straggled over the pillowcase, as brittle-looking as driftwood. I tried again. ‘Alice, it’s Rose.’

‘What on earth made you come?’ she whispered.

‘We’ve known each other a little while. I thought you should have someone here until your parents arrive.’

Her lips barely moved. ‘Why bother? We don’t have anything to do with each other any more.’

I took one of her limp hands between mine. ‘I’m so sorry that you felt so desperate…’

‘What do you know about it, Rose?’

‘I know what it’s like to be left. It… it sensitizes you to other people in the same boat.’

It took so little to destroy someone.

There was another long pause and she seemed to gather herself. ‘Isn’t it funny? It’s the decent, kind ones who let you down in the end. You get so used to them being decent and kind that you forget we’re all the same underneath. That they’ll seize the main chance just like anyone else.’

This was not fair on Sam. ‘He waited a long time, Alice, and I suppose he gave up. Perhaps he felt there’s a limit to how long you can love and wait for someone to come to heel. Or co-operate. In the end, he had to get on with his life.’

Tears sprang into Alice’s eyes and I leant over and wiped them away. ‘I feel so bloody tired,’ she said. ‘Stupid, too.’

‘Alice, do your employers know where you are?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Would you like me to deal with them?’

‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘Do as you wish.’

After a few minutes, I left her and went to find Sam.

Between us we concocted a story about flu, and he undertook to deal with that side of things. We agreed that I would remain with Alice until the evening, when he would pick me up.

I returned to the dingy room. After a bit Alice seemed to doze and the afternoon ticked away.

A trolley squelched down the corridor. Phones rang. A nurse popped her head round the door to check on the patient and went away again. Eventually, Alice opened her eyes and looked straight at me. ‘I thought Sam would be there for ever. He said he would be. I thought I could take my time before… well, before I was dragged into being a wife and all that.’ She frowned. ‘That was what Sam wanted but why should he have it all his way? I should have known that no one is ever there for ever.’

I had no answer to that.

A second nurse came in with a tray and we helped Alice to sit upright. I handed her a cup of tea. ‘Drink,’ I ordered. She swallowed a few sips and began to look better. I cleared a space on the locker for the cup and saucer.

I felt her eyes burning into my back. ‘Why didn’t I do it properly? Atypical of me. I’m usually so thorough.’

‘Perhaps you didn’t want to.’ I turned back to face her.

A weak smile touched the pale lips. ‘Did you think of it at all?’

‘No.’

Alice was silent, then asked, ‘What’s Jilly like? What’s she got that I haven’t?’

I chose my words with care. ‘Jilly is different from you. She’s more conventional… I think.’

‘There’s no need to go on. I can picture the type.’ Alice slid back down the pillows. She shielded her eyes with an arm. ‘Sam deserves someone nice, someone who will put him first. I would have never have done that. I’m not nice enough. I have myself to look after too. Anyone who says they don’t is lying.’

Obviously Alice had been admitted in a hurry, and her clothes had been tossed on to a chair over by the window. I picked up her grey flannel trousers. They were stained and smelt of vomit. A black cashmere jumper was just as bad. Alice’s beautiful, expensive clothes. I knew she would mind about those. Gently, carefully, I folded them. ‘I’ll get these cleaned and delivered back to you,’ I said.

She dropped her arm. ‘Why are you doing all this for me, Rose? You never liked me much.’

‘I hate to see Sam hurt.’

‘So why?’

‘Because you were always honest,’ I replied. ‘You may have hurt Sam but you never led him up the garden path. You never promised anything you wouldn’t deliver.’

But she and I were linked by an experience we had not sought and, I suspected, Alice would take longer to heal. I brushed back her hair. ‘Alice, will you promise not to do this again?’

Her colour brightened. ‘Who knows?’ she replied, with a touch of her old imperiousness. ‘I might have got a taste for it.’

Alice remained in contact. After she left hospital she was given a month’s leave, and because she felt low and desperate she rang me. Clearly she did not have much rapport with her own parents. But I had a brainwave and packed her off to Mazarine in Paris to help with installations.

They got on rather well. ‘At least,’ Mazarine reported back, ‘she is capable of great pain and passion.’ She added a (rare) compliment: ‘In that respect she is more French than English. But I shall take her shopping.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

I was kept busy lighting candles around the Madonna in St Benedicta’s: for Poppy and Richard, Sam and Jilly, Nathan, Ianthe, Alice. I also lit one for myself. It seemed appropriate.

In the office Kim piled on the work. On several occasions, I ended up going in early and leaving late. The buzz was that the Daily Dispatch’s figures were looking good, and the advertising department went round with a bounce in their step.

But these days I hurried less. There was no need. Today as I crossed the park, I enjoyed the birdsong, a tense exchange between a parent and child, the drone of an aircraft checking into its flightpath. My father had been a good listener. He had liked birds, the sound of water and the rustle of grass. The sounds that I was enjoying were city ones, but they also repaid attention. They were a line into life: ordinary and unremarkable.

Over by the path skirting the river, the buds on the chestnut were swelling nicely. Pink tulips bloomed under a maple and I bent down to examine the nearest. Greenfly swarmed over the concave inner petal fretworked with tiny green veins. That was good: Nature had not given up.

Swinging my book bag, I rounded the corner into Lakey Street and there was Hal. In the back of my mind, I had been expecting him so I was not surprised. It was absolutely in character that he was sprawled comfortably on the front doorstep, reading the evening paper. Beside him was a basket with a hinged lid.

‘Have you been waiting long?’