They ordered in a leisurely fashion. Eschewed the ravioli and tagliatelli, and went instead for duck pate, and cold Tay salmon.
"Why do I bring you to Italian restaurants, when you can eat Tay salmon at home?"
"Because there is nothing in the world so delicious, and after my whirl in London I seem to have had my fill of ethnic food."
"I shall not ask with whom you have been dining."
She smiled. "Nor I you."
Without haste, they ate their way through the perfect meal, ending with fresh raspberries coated in thick cream, and a Brie of exactly the right consistency. She told him of the exhibition at Burlington House, Felicity Crowe's plans to buy a country cottage in Dorset, and tried to explain, with a certain amount of confusing detail, the plot of Phantom of the Opera. Edmund, who knew the plot anyway, listened with absorbed interest, simply because it was so marvellous to have her back, to listen to her voice, to have her sharing her pleasures with him.
Finally, their plates were cleared, and coffee brought, black and fragrant, steaming in the tiny cups. As well as a dish of chocolate peppermints thin as wafers.
By now most of the other tables had emptied, the diners gone home. Only one other couple sat, as they sat, but drinking brandy. The man smoked a cigar.
The Moet et Chandon was finished, up-ended in the ice-bucket. "Would you like a brandy?" Edmund asked.
"No. Not a thing more."
"I'd have one, but I have to drive."
"I could drive."
He shook his head. "I don't need a brandy." He leaned back in his chair. "You've told me everything, but you still haven't told me about Alexa."
"I was keeping it to the end."
"Does that mean it's good?"
"1 think it's good. I'm not sure what you'll think."
"Try me."
"You won't become Victorian, will you?"
"I don't think I ever am."
"Because Alexa's got a man. He's moved in with her. He's living with her in the house in Ovington Street."
Edmund did not at once reply to this. Then he said, quite calmly, "When did this happen?"
"In June, 1 think. She didn't tell us because she was afraid we would all be upset or disapproving."
"Does she think we wouldn't like him?"
"No. I think she thinks you'd like him very much. It's just that she wasn't sure how you'd take it. So she gave me the job of telling you."
"Have you met him?"
"Yes. Just for a little while. We had a drink together. There wasn't time for more."
"Did you like him?"
"Yes, I did. He's very good-looking, very charming. He's called Noel Keeling."
Edmund's coffee-cup was empty. He caught Luigi's eye and asked for it to be refilled. When this was done, he stirred it thoughtfully, his eyes downcast, his handsome features giving nothing away.
"What do you think?" Virginia asked.
He looked up at her and smiled. "I think I'm thinking that I thought it would never happen."
"But you're pleased that it has?"
I m pleased that Alexa has found someone who is sufficiently fond of her to want to spend much time with her. It would be easier for everybody if it could have taken a less dramatic course, but I suppose nowadays it's inevitable that they should shack up together and give it a try before making any momentous decision." He took a mouthful of the scalding coffee, set down the cup. "It's just that she's such an extraordinarily unsophisticated child."
"She isn't a child any more, Edmund."
"It's hard to think of Alexa as anything else."
"We have to."
"I realize that."
"She was in rather a state about my telling you all. She asked me to tell you, but I know, in a funny way, she was dreading the secret coming out."
"What do you think I should do?"
"You don't have to do anything. She's going to bring him up to Balnaid in September for the weekend of the Steyntons' dance. And we'll all behave as casually as all-get-out… just as though he were an old childhood chum or a school friend. I don't think we can do more. After that, it's up to them."
"Was that your idea or Alexa's?"
"Mine," Virginia told him, not without pride.
"What a clever girl you are."
"I told her other things as well, Edmund. I told her that, over the last few weeks, we haven't exactly been the best of friends."
"That must be the understatement of the year."
She fixed him with her brilliant gaze. She said, "I haven't changed my mind. I haven't changed my attitude. I don't want Henry to go and I think he's too young, and I think you're making a dreadful mistake; but I know that Henry's been upset by all this ill feeling, and I've decided we've got to stop thinking about ourselves and think about the children instead. Think about Henry and Alexa. Because Alexa said that if we were still glowering at each other, then she wasn't going to come up with Noel because she couldn't stand the idea of any sort of bad atmosphere between us." She paused, waiting for Edmund to make some sort of comment. But he said nothing and so she continued. "I've been thinking about that. I tried to imagine going back to Leesport and finding my grandparents snapping each other's heads off, but it was unimaginable, and that's the way we've got to make it for Henry and Alexa. I'm not giving in, Edmund. I'll never come round to your way of thinking. But what can't be cured must be endured. Besides, I've missed you. I don't really like being on my own. In London I kept wishing you were there." She put her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. "You see, I love you."
After a little, Edmund said, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry I love you?"
He shook his head. "No. Sorry I went to Templehall and settled the whole affair with Colin Henderson without consulting you. I should have had more consideration. It was overbearing."
"I've never heard you admit to being in the wrong before."
"I hope you never have to again. It's painful." He reached out and took her hand in his. "It's a truce then?"
"With one proviso?"
"What would that be?"
"That when the terrible day comes and poor Henry has to go to Templehall, I am not asked nor expected to take him. Because I don't think that I could physically bear to do that. Later on maybe, when I've got used to being without him. But not the first time."
"I'll be there," said Edmund. "I shall take him."
It was growing late. The other couple had departed, and the waiters were standing around trying not to look as though they were longing for Edmund and Virginia, too, to go home and let them close up for the night. Edmund called for the bill and, while this was coming, leaned back in his chair, put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and brought out a small package wrapped in thick white paper and sealed with red wax.
"It's for you." He put it on the table between them. "It's a welcome-home present."
6
If Henry could not be at home, at Balnaid, then the next best thing was staying with Vi. At Pennyburn, he had his own bedroom, a tiny room over what had once been the front door, with a narrow window looking out over the garden and the glen and the hills beyond. From this window, if he screwed his neck around a bit, he could even see Balnaid, half-hidden in trees beyond the river and the village. And in the mornings when he awoke and sat up, he could watch the rising sun stretching long fingers of early light across the fields, and listen to the song of the blackbird that had its nest in the top branches of the old elder tree by the burn. Vi did not like elder trees, but she had let this one stand, because it was a good tree for Henry to climb. That was how he had found out about the blackbird's nest.
The roorfi was so small, it was a little like sleeping in a Wendy house, or even a cupboard, but that was part of its charm. There was space for his bed and a chest of drawers with a mirror hanging over it, but no more. A couple of hooks on the back of the door did duty as a wardrobe, and there was a neat little light over his bedhead, so that he could read in bed if he wanted to. The carpet was blue and the walls were white. There was a nice picture of a bluebell wood, and the curtains were white with bunches of field flowers spattered all over them.