Kate Morton - The House at Riverton aka The Shifting Fog

At dinner a few nights later, Deborah took revenge for Robbie’s blunder.

‘I noticed Mr Hunter was here again today,’ she said, spearing a pastry puff.

‘He brought a book he thought might interest me,’ Hannah said.

Deborah glanced at Teddy, who was sitting at the head, dissecting his fish. ‘I just wonder whether Mr Hunter’s visits might be unsettling the staff.’

Hannah laid down her cutlery. ‘I can’t see why the staff would find Mr Hunter’s visits unsettling.’

‘No,’ said Deborah, drawing herself up. ‘I rather feared you wouldn’t. You’ve never really been one for taking responsibility where the household is concerned.’ She spoke slowly, enunciating each word. ‘Servants are like children, Hannah dear. They like a good routine, find it almost impossible to function without. It’s up to us, their betters, to provide them one.’ She leaned her head to the side. ‘Now, as you know, Mr Hunter’s visits are unpredictable. By his own admission, he doesn’t know the first thing about polite society. He doesn’t even telephone ahead so you can give notice. Mrs Tibbit gets herself into quite a flap trying to provide morning tea for two when she’s only been prepared for one. It’s really not fair. Don’t you agree, Teddy?’

‘What’s that?’ He looked up from his fish head.

‘I was just saying,’ Deborah said, ‘how regrettable it is that the staff has been unsettled lately.’

‘Staff unsettled?’ said Teddy. It was, of course, his pet fear, inherited from his father, that the servant class would one day revolt.

‘I’ll speak to Mr Hunter,’ said Hannah quickly. ‘Ask him to telephone ahead in future.’

Deborah appeared to consider this. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m afraid it’s too little too late. I think perhaps it would be best if he were to cease visiting at all.’

‘Bit extreme, don’t you think, Dobby,’ Teddy said, and Hannah felt a wave of warm affection for him. ‘Mr Hunter’s always struck me as harmless enough. Bohemian, I’ll grant you, but harmless. If he calls ahead, surely the staff-’

‘There are other issues to consider,’ Deborah snapped. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we, Teddy?’

‘Wrong idea?’ Teddy said, frowning. He began to laugh. ‘Oh Dobby, you can’t mean that anyone would think Hannah and Mr Hunter… That my wife and a fellow like him…?’

Hannah closed her eyes lightly.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Deborah said sharply. ‘But people love to talk and talk isn’t good for business. Or politics.’

‘Politics?’ Teddy said.

‘The election, Tiddles,’ said Deborah. ‘How can people trust you to keep your electorate in check if they suspect you’re having trouble keeping your wife in check?’ She delivered herself a triumphant forkful of food, avoiding the sides of her lipsticked mouth.

Teddy looked troubled. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘And neither should you,’ Hannah said quietly. ‘Mr Hunter was my brother’s good friend. He visits so that we might speak of David.’

‘I know that, old girl,’ said Teddy with an apologetic smile. He shrugged helplessly. ‘All the same, Dobby has a point. You understand, don’t you? We can’t have people getting the wrong end of the stick.’

Deborah stuck to Hannah like glue after that. Having suffered Robbie’s rejection, she wanted to be sure he received the directive; more importantly, that he realised from whom it came. Thus the next time Robbie visited, he once again found Deborah on the drawing-room sofa with Hannah.

‘Good morning, Mr Hunter,’ Deborah said, smiling broadly while she plucked knots from the fur of her Maltese, Bunty. ‘How lovely to see you. I trust you’re well?’

Robbie nodded. ‘You?’

‘Oh, fighting fit,’ said Deborah.

Robbie smiled at Hannah. ‘What did you think?’

Hannah pressed her lips together. The proof copy of The Waste Land was sitting beside her. She handed it to him. ‘I loved it, Mr Hunter. It moved me immeasurably.’

He smiled. ‘I knew it would.’

Hannah glanced toward Deborah, who widened her eyes pointedly. ‘Mr Hunter,’ said Hannah, tightening her lips, ‘there’s something I need to discuss with you.’ She pointed to Teddy’s seat.

Robbie sat, looked at her with those dark eyes.

‘My husband,’ began Hannah, but she didn’t know how to finish. ‘My husband…’

She looked at Deborah, who cleared her throat and pretended absorption in Bunty’s silky head. Hannah watched a moment, transfixed by Deborah’s long, thin fingers, her pointed nails…

Robbie followed her gaze. ‘Your husband, Mrs Luxton?’

Hannah spoke softly. ‘My husband would prefer that you no longer call without purpose.’

Deborah pushed Bunty off her lap, brushed her dress. ‘You understand, don’t you, Mr Hunter?’

Boyle came in then carrying the tea salver. He laid it on the table, nodded to Deborah, then left.

‘You will stay for tea, won’t you?’ said Deborah, in a sweet voice that made Hannah’s skin crawl. ‘One last time?’ She poured the tea and handed a cup to Robbie.

With Deborah as gay conductor, they managed an awkward conversation about the collapse of the coalition government and the assassination of Michael Collins. Hannah was hardly listening. All she wanted was a few minutes alone with Robbie in which to explain. She also knew it was the last thing Deborah would permit.

She was thinking this, wondering whether she would ever have opportunity to speak with him again, realising just how much she’d come to depend on his company, when the door opened and Emmeline came in from lunching with friends.

Emmeline was particularly pretty that day: she’d had her hair set into blonde waves and was wearing a new scarf in a new colour-burnt sienna-that made her skin glow. She flew through the door as was her way, sending Bunty scuttling beneath the armchair, and sank casually into the corner of the lounge, resting her hands dramatically on her stomach.

‘Phew,’ she said, oblivious to the room’s tension. ‘I’m as stuffed as a Christmas goose. I truly don’t think I’ll ever eat again.’ She lolled her head to the side. ‘How’s tricks, Robbie?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. She sat up suddenly, eyes wide. ‘Oh! You’ll never guess who I met the other night at Lady Sybil Colefax’s party. I was sitting there, talking with darling Lord Berners, he was telling me all about the dear little piano he’s had installed in his Rolls Royce, when who should arrive but the Sitwells! All three Sitwells. They were ever so much funnier in the flesh. Dear Sachy with his clever jokes, and Osbert with those little poem things with the funny endings-’

‘Epigrams,’ Robbie mumbled.

‘He’s every bit as witty as Oscar Wilde,’ said Emmeline. ‘But it was Edith who was most impressive. She recited one of her poems and it brought the whole lot of us to tears. Well you know what Lady Colefax is like-an absolute snob for brains-I couldn’t help myself, Robbie darling, I mentioned that I knew you and they just about died. I dare say they didn’t believe me, they all think I’ve a talent for invention-I can’t think why-but you see? You simply have to come to the party tonight to prove them wrong.’

She drew breath and in one swift movement withdrew a cigarette from her bag and had it lit. She exhaled a rush of smoke. ‘Say you’ll come, Robbie. It’s one thing to have people doubt one when one’s lying, quite another when one’s speaking the truth.’

Robbie paused a moment, considering her offer. ‘What time should I collect you?’ he said.

Hannah blinked. She’d expected him to decline as he always did when Emmeline tossed him one of her invitations. She’d thought Robbie felt the same way about Emmeline’s friends as she did. Perhaps his disdain did not extend to the likes of Lord Berner and Lady Sybil. Perhaps the lure of the Sitwells was too much to resist.