Fen found herself hugging Malise in the collecting ring. “He did it,” she gulped, “he really did it. It’s going to be all right.”

As Jake rode towards the exit, deadpan as ever, the cheers mounted and all the people in the boxes came out onto the balconies to bellow their approval. Helen joined in the applause politely. She felt absurdly deflated. Jake had hardly noticed her and then cut her dead.

“Great round,” said Malise.

Jake shook his head. “It was bloody terrible and you know it, but at least I, or rather Macaulay, got around.”

Everyone was congratulating him. It amazed him. They were so thrilled to see him back. But he couldn’t take the hero worship and the enthusiasm just yet. He wanted to be alone with Macaulay to thank him. Riding quietly out of the collecting ring he saw Helen Campbell-Black. Aware that he’d snubbed her earlier, he rode towards her.

“Hello.”

She looked up: “Oh, hi,” she said, ultracasually.

There was a long pause.

“He jumped well,” she stammered. “I’m so happy for you.”

“How’s Marcus?” said Jake to the top of her trilby.

“He’s real fine, so much better. Look, I’ve been meaning to thank you for ages for lunch and for Marcus’s circus. You were so kind driving all that way.” She was really gibbering now.

“That’s all right,” said Jake.

After another long pause she looked up and they gazed at each other.

“I’ve got your handkerchief, too,” she said, color mounting in her face, “and Marcus plays with his circus the whole time. He just adored you.”

Jake said nothing, but went on staring down at her.

As Macaulay sidled beneath him, Helen put up a trembling hand to stroke the horse’s black neck.

“Are you going to Rome?” she asked, desperate for something to say.

“No. Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t go.”

“W-what?” She looked at him in amazement.

“I said, don’t go. Make some excuse. When’s Rupert leaving?”

“Lunchtime on Monday week. He’s flying out.”

“Right. You’ll be home in the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll ring you there.” And he was gone.

Helen was thrown into complete panic. Had she dreamed it? Could Jake really have said that? From that Saturday at Crittleden to the Monday nine days later, when Rupert left for Rome, she went through every fluctuation of excitement, worry, terror, and disbelief.

She was completely inattentive at committee meetings and at parties. When the parties were boring she could think of nothing but Jake. Yet when Amanda Hamilton invited them to dinner on the Saturday and Helen, radiant in russet taffeta, was chatted up by two rather glamorous Tory MPs, she hardly missed him at all. Amanda had been particularly nice to her, soliciting her aid to persuade Rupert to go into politics.

Perhaps if he did, thought Helen, things would be different. He’d be in England most of the time and there wouldn’t be any of those punishing three-o’clock-in-the-morning departures, and by using his brain he might have less of a chip about her apparent intellectual superiority.

Rupert was highly relieved that Helen wasn’t coming to Rome. Amanda Hamilton was going to be out there for the Rome tennis tournament, staying with friends. He was making no progress with Amanda. Like a do-it-yourself cupboard, he told Billy, she was taking far longer to make than one would expect. Pathological about adverse press, she even refused to lunch with him. But she fascinated him more than any woman he’d met for ages, and he was determined to get her into bed before long.

When Rupert’s car refused to start on Monday, Helen drove him to the airport. As she drove slowly back to Penscombe, admiring the wild cherry blossom and the pale green spring leaves, she reflected that it was a good thing she’d be out when Jake rang, just to show she wasn’t that keen.

Walking into the house she buried her face in a huge bunch of white lilac which filled the entire hall with its scent. Marcus rushed out to meet her and show her the pictures of the fair he’d painted at play school.

“Any messages?” she called out casually to Charlene, who was in the kitchen.

“No. Oh, I tell a lie, Mrs. Bacon rang about jumble.”

“No one else? Are you sure you didn’t go out or into the garden?”

“I’ve been here all afternoon.”

Helen was totally thrown. She’d been so certain Jake was going to crowd her, that she had a tiger by the tail. Why the hell couldn’t Mrs. Bodkin throw away dead flowers, she thought, as she wandered restlessly round the drawing room, moving ornaments, even snapping at Marcus. She tried to read. Half an hour passed. Then Malise rang, hoping to catch Rupert before he left. Janey rang for a gossip and the headmistress of Marcus’s play group rang about their summer bring-and-buy. Helen was uncharacteristically terse with all of them. Then Charlene’s mother rang and gossiped to Charlene for twenty minutes. Helen couldn’t even accuse her of wasting money as it was an incoming call. Perhaps Jake was in a call box trying to get through; perhaps he’d lost the number. Oh, the nightmare of being ex-directory. Unsupervised by Charlene, the children swarmed into the drawing room. The next moment Tab had put jammy fingerprints all over the apricot silk curtains.

“Charlene,” screamed Helen, “for God’s sake, get off the telephone.”

Charlene flounced in, looking martyred. “It’s Gran. She’s got cancer of the bowel.”

“Oh, God,” said Helen, mortified. “I’m so sorry.”

The telephone rang. Helen sprang to it.

“Hello.”

“Helen?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Jake. Sorry I couldn’t ring before. The class went on and on.”

There was a pause. Mindlessly she watched Tab stumping towards the table with the long pale blue cloth, on which stood all Helen’s favorite ornaments.

“Look, I know it’s short notice, but I’m coming your way tomorrow. Can we lunch?”

“I don’t know. Tab, leave that tablecloth alone. Alone, I said.”

“Shall I pick you up?”

“No.” It was almost a scream. “Tab — I said, put it down!”

“You know the Red Elephant at Willacombe?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you there at one o’clock.”

“Okay — hey wait.”

But he had replaced the receiver.

Leaping forward, Helen retrieved a Rockingham dalmation from Tab’s predatory fingers.

“I said, ‘Don’t touch.’ ”

Picking up the child, she was suddenly overwhelmed with happiness, swinging her around and around, covering her with kisses until she screamed with delight.

“Weeties,” said Tabitha, sensing weakness.

“Oh, okay” said Helen, “if you really want all your teeth to fall out.”

Looking in the diary after a sleepless night, Helen saw to her horror that she was supposed to go to a fund-raising lunch for the NSPCC. As vice-president for the local area, she was expected to play a leading part and make a rousing put-your-hand-in-


your pocket speech after lunch.

The president was very put out when Helen rang and said she couldn’t make it. Charlene had to go to an unexpected funeral, she explained, so she had to stay home and look after Marcus and Tab.

“Surely one of the grooms can do that? I mean, we are expecting you. You’re on the poster and you’re such a draw. They’re all looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’m sorry, Davina, but I really can’t leave them.”

“What about Janey Lloyd-Foxe?”

“She’s away.” Horrifying how easy she found it to lie. “Honestly, I’d never forgive myself if Marcus had an asthma attack.”

The president was not so easily defeated. She rang back at half-past eleven, just as Helen was having a bath.

Charlene answered the telephone before Helen could reach it.

“Hello, Mrs. Paignton-Lacey, Mrs. C-B’s in the bath.”

“Give it to me.” Dripping, Helen snatched the telephone.

“D’you always have a bath in the middle of the morning? Who was that answering the telephone?”

“Charlene.”

“I’d thought she’d gone to a funeral.”

“She’s just leaving.”

“Hmm, well I’ve sorted out your problems. Angela Pitt’s nanny’s a state-registered nurse and she’s quite happy to bring Angela’s smalls over to you and look after your smalls.”

“That’s very kind,” said Helen, realizing the bedroom door was still open and Charlene was probably hovering, “but I’m afraid the answer’s no.” She kicked the door shut.

“But that’s absurd. Surely a state-registered nurse is better…”

“At looking after Marcus rather than his own mother?” snapped Helen. “Since we’re talking about cruelty to children, I figure my first duty is towards my own kids. I appreciate your help, Davina, but please don’t try and run my life,” and she hung up.

Looking at herself in the bedroom mirror, she was suddenly elated and amazed by her own defiance. Suddenly, however, panic assailed her. What if Davina rang again and got Charlene after she’d left, or if Marcus really had an asthma attack? Whimpering with terror, she rang the Red Elephant. Could she leave a message for Mr. Lovell? After a long pause, the manager said there was no one booked in the name of Lovell, although they had four Mr. Smiths and five Mr. Browns who’d booked tables for lunch. Helen rang off. Perhaps he wasn’t going to show up at all.

Mrs. Campbell-Black, reflected Charlene, as she listened to Helen singing ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’ in the bath, was behaving in a very odd way. Yesterday she’d unloaded all Badger’s tins of dog food from the supermarket into the dishwasher and put a packet of Tampax in the fridge. Even when she came out of the bath and found Tabitha trying on lipsticks and dropping one on the pale gold carpet, she didn’t fly off the handle as she normally would.