After the debacle of the Devon holiday, and becoming frustrated with Virginia's resolute non-communication, Edmund had considered precipitating another row with his young wife, so bringing matters to a head. But then he decided that this could do nothing but worsen the situation. In her present state of mind, she was quite capable of packing her bags and hightailing it off to Leesport, Long Island, to stay with her devoted grandparents, now returned from their cruise. There she would be petted and spoiled as she had always been, and vociferously reassured that she was in the right and Edmund a hardhearted monster even to contemplate sending small Henry away from her.
And so Edmund had kept his counsel and decided to ride out the emotional storm. He was, after all, not about to change his mind nor make any compromises. It was, at the end of the day, up to Virginia.
When she announced that she was going to London by herself for a few days, Edmund greeted the news with nothing but relief. If a few days of fun and shopping did not put her in a more sensible frame of mind, then nothing would. Henry, she told him, was going to stay with Vi. He could do what he pleased. And so he put the dogs into kennels with Gordon Gillock, closed Balnaid, and spent the week in his flat in Moray Place.
The time alone had come as no hardship to him. He simply cleared his mind of all domestic problems, allowed himself to become absorbed in his work, and enjoyed being able to put in long and productive days at his office. As well, the word went swiftly around that Edmund Aird was in town and on his own. Extra attractive men were always at a premium, and the invitations to dinner had poured in. During Virginia's absence he had not once spent an evening at home.
But the hard truth was that he loved his wife and deeply resented this constraint that had lain for so long, like a fetid bog, between them. Standing waiting for her to appear, he hoped devoutly that the time spent enjoying herself in London had brought her to her senses.
For Virginia's sake. Because he had no intention of living under the cloud of her disapproval and umbrage for so much as one more day, and had already made the decision to stay in Edinburgh, and not return to Balnaid, if she had not relented.
Virginia was one of the last to appear. Through the door and down the stairs. He saw her at once. Her hair was different and she was dressed in unfamiliar and obviously brand-new clothes. Black trousers and a sapphire-blue shirt, and an immensely long raincoat that reached almost to her ankles. She was carrying, along with her flight bag, a number of shiny and extravagant-looking boxes and carriers, the very picture of an elegant woman fresh from a mammoth shopping spree. As well, she looked sensationally glamorous and about ten years younger.
And she was his wife. Despite everything, he realized all at once how dreadfully he had missed her. He did not move from where he stood, but he could feel the drum-beat of his own heart.
She saw him and paused. Their eyes met. Those blue and brilliant eyes of hers. For a long moment they simply looked at each other. Then she smiled, and came on down towards him.
Edmund took a long, deep breath in which relief, joy, and a surge of youthful well-being were all inextricably mingled. London, it appeared, had done the trick. Everything was going to be all right. He felt his face break into an answering, unstoppable smile, and went forward to greet her.
Ten minutes later, they were back in the car, Virginia's luggage stowed in the boot, doors closed, seat-belts fastened. Alone and together.
Edmund reached for the car keys, tossed them in his hand. "What do you want to do?" he asked.
"What suggestions do you have?"
"We can head straight back to Balnaid. Or we can go to the flat. Or we can go and have dinner in Edinburgh and then drive back to Balnaid. Henry is spending another night with Vi, so we are completely free."
"I should like to go out for dinner and then go home."
"Then that is what we shall do." He inserted the car key, switched on the ignition. "1 have a table booked at Rafaelli's." He manoeuvred the crowded car-park, drove to the toll-gate, paid his dues. They moved out onto the road.
"How was London?"
"Hot and crowded. But fun. I saw masses of people, and went to about four parties, and Felicity had got tickets for Phantom of the Opera. I spent so much money, you're going to pass out when the bills come in."
"Did you get a dress for the Steyntons' dance?"
"Yes. At Caroline Charles. A really dreamy creation. And I got my hair done."
"I noticed."
"Do you like it?"
"Very elegant. And that coat is new."
"I felt such a country frump when I got to London, I went slightly mad. It's Italian. Not much use in Strathcroy, I admit, but I couldn't resist it."
She laughed. His own sweet-tempered Virginia. He was filled with grateful satisfaction, and swore to himself that he would remember this when the inevitable American Express account came in. She said, "I can see I shall have to go to London more often."
"Did you see Alexa?"
"Yes, and I've lots to tell you, but I'll save that up till we're having dinner. How's Henry?"
"I rang up a couple of evenings ago. He's having, as usual, the time of his life. Vi asked Kedejah Ishak to tea at Pennybum, and she and Henry made a dam in the burn and sailed paper boats. He was quite happy to spend an extra night with Vi."
"And you? What have you been doing?"
"Working. Going out to dinner. I've had a social week."
She glanced at him wryly. "I'll bet," she said without rancour.
He drove into Edinburgh by the old Glasgow road, and as they approached, the Old City looked its most impressive, etched like a romantic engraving beneath the immense and steely sky. The wide streets were verdant with leafy trees, the skyline pierced by spires and towers, and the Castle on its rock brooded over all, with flag snapping at the mast-head. Coming to the New Town, they entered the gracefully proportioned purlieus of Georgian terraces and spacious crescents. All had been newly sandstoned, and the buildings, with their classic windows and porticoes and airy fanlights, stood honey-coloured in the evening light.
Circling the one-way system, Edmund made his way through a labyrinth of hidden lanes and turned at last into a narrow cobbled street to draw up at the pavement's edge outside the little Italian restaurant. On the opposite side of this street stood one of Edinburgh's many beautiful churches. High up on the tower, above the massive arched doorway, the hands of a golden clock moved to nine o'clock, and as they got out of the car, its chimes pealed out across the rooftops, striking the hours. Flocks of pigeons, disturbed from their airy roosts, exploded upwards in a flurry of flight. When the last chime had struck, they settled again, on sill and parapet, cooing to themselves, folding their wings, pretending nothing had happened, as though ashamed of their silly agitation.
"You'd think," said Virginia, "that they'd get used to the din. Become blase."
"I never met a blase pigeon. Did you?"
"Come to think of it, no."
He took her arm and led her across the pavement and through the door. Inside the restaurant was small, dimly lighted, smelling of fresh coffee and garlic and delicious Mediterranean food. The place was pleasantly busy and most of the tables were occupied, but the head waiter spied them at once and made his way across the floor to welcome them.
"Good evening, Mr. Aird. And Madame."
"Good evening, Luigi."
"I have your table ready."
The table Edmund had particularly asked for, in the corner, tucked under the window. A starched pink damask cloth, pink damask napkins, a single rose in a slender vase. Charming, intimate, seductive. The ultimate ambience for the ending of a feud.
"Perfect, Luigi. Thank you. And the Moet et Chandon?"
"No problem, Mr. Aird. I have it on ice."
They drank the chilled champagne. Virginia filled in the details of her social activities, the art exhibitions she had been to, the concert at the Wigmore Hall.