She twisted newspaper pages into spirals, now, and laid them in the fireplace; then she added kindling, which Thomas had left arranged as carefully as breadsticks in a wicker basket. Marianne was impulsive to the point of wilfulness, entirely certain that what had captured her imagination needed no other justification for providing the obvious, indeed the only, course of action. It was wonderful and terrible to see the consequences of Marianne’s predilection for allowing emotion to prevail over everything, and it was also alarmingly familiar. Belle leaned forward to place a few small, split logs on to her wigwam of paper and wood. Marianne was just as she had been, and, if she was truthful with herself, was still very capable of being. She sat back on her heels and dusted her hands off against one another. But admitting that, she assured herself stoutly, did not in any way diminish the fact that she had been suspicious of Wills from the start. Who wouldn’t be, faced with such utter male glory? It wasn’t natural, it really wasn’t, for a man to be as good-looking as that.

The landline telephone began to ring from the kitchen. Belle scrambled to her feet and hurried to answer it.

‘It’s Mary,’ Mary Middleton said in her unengaged way.

‘Oh, Mary.’

‘Awful day.’

‘Well, I suppose—’

‘I hate this time of year in the country. Thank goodness the boys are all at day school now, and Anna-Maria’s doing three days at nursery. It means Baby and I can keep scooting up to London. A lifesaver.’

Belle leaned against the kitchen table. Outside the window, the rain fell noisily into the small paved yard in which the rotary clothesline was planted, and dripping. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘I thought I’d better ring you,’ Mary said. ‘To let you know that I’ve met your sister-in-law, in London.’

‘Fanny!’

‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘Her Harry and my William are about the same age. And of course, she’s got Norland.’

Belle straightened a little. She said crisply, ‘Indeed she has.’

‘It sounds lovely.’

‘It is.’

‘Well,’ Mary said, in the tone of one who had been instructed to pass on information which they, personally, saw no need to share, ‘we’ve all been asked to dinner at Fanny’s, next weekend. Jonno thought you should know, for some reason. Perhaps because the girls have been asked too.’

‘The girls?’

‘Elinor,’ Mary said, ‘and Marianne. And Lucy and Nancy. We’ll be swamped with girls. At least Bill’s coming too. It’s so great he can be relied on not to mind being the universal man.’

Belle closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. She said, ‘I’m not sure Marianne will be well enough.’

‘Oh?’ Mary said. ‘Won’t she? Isn’t the best remedy for a broken heart to accept every invitation going?’

‘It’s not her heart, Mary, it’s her asthma.’

‘I don’t think the Dashwoods have any dogs in London. It’s a house somewhere near Harley Street.’

‘I know perfectly well where my stepson and his wife live in London, Mary, thank you. And dogs are not, this time, the problem.’

‘Oh, I thought—’

‘Mary,’ Belle demanded, ‘have you any idea of the complete waste of space that John Willoughby has turned out to be?’

There was short a silence on the other end of the line, and then Mary said, ‘Jonno says he’ll never speak to him again, and he never says that about anyone.’

‘Good. And you?’

Mary said, with more energy, ‘He never took any notice of the children when he was here. He paid more attention to the dogs than my children, for heaven’s sake.’

‘There you are then.’

‘Will you tell Elinor?’

‘Tell her what?’

‘Will you tell Elinor’, Mary said, ‘that John and Fanny expect her for dinner, in London, on Saturday? But you’d better not tell her that Edward won’t be there.’

‘Mary—’

‘Lucy told me that he won’t. I don’t know why she should know where he is, but she seems to. He can’t stand his mother, or something.’

‘His mother!’ Belle exclaimed.

‘It’s weird, when her house is the only home he’s got, according to everyone. But I expect it’s to do with her wanting to marry him off to some heiress or other, so he won’t be pounced on by a gold-digger. She sounds quite something, Mrs Ferrars.’

‘But why’, Belle said, bewildered by Mary’s stream of consciousness, ‘does it matter where Ed’s mother is?’

‘Oh,’ Mary said, ‘Fanny said her mother would be there at dinner. Won’t that be interesting? The dragon who guards the cave to the Ferrarses’ millions. Mrs F., and Fanny’s other brother. The one who was in the paper. Belle, I’ve got to dash. Baby wake-up time and we do not like it if the first thing we see when we open our eyes isn’t Mumma.’

‘Of course,’ Belle said faintly.

‘And you’ll tell Ellie? Smart casual, Saturday night.’

‘Yes,’ Belle said. ‘Yes. Goodbye.’

She put the handset back into its cradle with elaborate care in order not to slam it. No Edward, but instead, Edward’s mother, Fanny, John, those gruesome Steele girls, smart casual … Poor Elinor. Poor, poor Marianne. Why was the world so intent on pretending that nothing had happened?

The phone rang again. She snatched it up. Before she could utter a word, Mary said, ‘Completely forgot to say that Wills is getting married, or something.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t know the details, just heard that he’s gone to Athens. Must fly, really, really loud baby noises from on high now!’

And she was gone.

From her sitting room, Abigail Jennings could hear the sounds of Marianne’s guitar. It was, she had said to Charlotte on the telephone that morning – Charlotte’s baby was late now, by five days, and therefore constant encouraging telephoning was required, on both sides – such a relief to hear. Even the dirgeful, gloomy things she seemed to want to play were better than all that sighing or silence. Thank goodness, she’d said to Charlotte, for Bill Brandon’s besottedness. He’d said he’d bring the guitar up to London on his next trip from Delaford, and she was sure he’d made a special journey to collect it, but who cared, really, as long as Marianne had the thing in her hands and could play some of her misery out, at least.

‘I never cease to be thankful, dear,’ Abigail said to her younger daughter, ‘that you never went in for having your heart broken.’

Charlotte gave a squeal of laughter. ‘No fear!’

‘These Dashwood girls, Char, such sweeties, but really hopeless. So emotional. I suppose you only have to look at their mother, don’t you?’

‘Now, now, Mummy.’

‘Well,’ Abigail said, ‘she was all over Wills like a rash. And now the Ferrars boy, for Elinor …’

‘Don’t think so, Mummy.’

‘Char dear, he went to stay; there’s all that mystery about him just coming and going—’

Charlotte’s voice dropped to confidential. She said quietly but emphatically, ‘He’ll do as he’s told.’

‘What?’

‘Mummy, there’s squillions in that family. Just loadsa money. His father made an absolute pile, you know that, and Mrs F. will be very picky about the girls those boys end up with. They won’t be allowed to choose, Mummy, or if they do, there’ll be awful consequences. Ellie can moon about after Ed till she’s blue in the face but he’s got to marry where he’s told, which is Tassy Morton.’

‘Tassy?’

‘Of course!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘It makes absolute sense. Property prince marries scaffolding heiress, it’s perfect! And she’s really sweet. She’ll do anything Daddy tells her, so if he says marry Ed Ferrars, she’ll do it. I don’t suppose she’s ever had an opinion of her own in her life!’

‘My dear,’ Abigail said with satisfaction, ‘you do know everything, don’t you?’

‘Chip off the old block!’ Charlotte said gaily.

‘Just think …’ Abigail said musingly. ‘Just think how very, very fascinating this supper party of Fanny Dashwood’s is going to be …’

‘Is it on Saturday?’

‘It is, dear.’

‘If this baby hasn’t come by Saturday,’ Charlotte said, ‘I shall just come with you and have it right in front of everyone. Do you think I’m going to be pregnant for ever?’

‘He’s not here,’ Lucy hissed to Elinor as they got out of the taxi on Saturday night, ‘because of me.’

Elinor, focusing on managing the descent from a taxi in unaccustomed high heels, said nothing.

Lucy put a hand under Elinor’s elbow to steady her. She said, close to Elinor’s ear, ‘I mean, it would completely give the game away. You know Ed. He simply can’t hide his feelings. One look at me and it would be completely evident to everyone.’

Elinor removed her elbow. She said, straightening up and trying not to sound cross, ‘Would it matter?’

‘Oh, Ellie,’ Lucy said reproachfully, ‘you know we’ve got to play the long game!’ She looked up at the façade of the house they were outside. ‘I thought it was all doctors and stuff in Harley Street.’

‘Ooh,’ Nancy squealed from her other side, ‘totes inappropes to talk about doctors in front of moi!’

Lucy went on staring at the house. She said, dismissively, ‘It’s all you talk about, Nance.’

‘You can be such a cow, Luce.’

‘Better than boring.’

‘Boring, is it, to have a boyf with a plane, rather than one with a wrecked Sierra?’

‘Something has to compensate for a beer belly and no hair.’

‘You make me vom—’

‘Stop it,’ Elinor said. ‘Stop it. This house belongs to the family. Well, to John now. He rents out all of it except their flat.’

Lucy took her arm again.

‘Nice little earner. For your brother, I mean.’

Elinor made no reply. She glanced down the street, to the second taxi, from which Bill Brandon and Sir John Middleton, watched by Marianne and Mary Middleton, were endeavouring to extract Mrs Jennings. Lucy pressed the arm she held to retrieve Elinor’s attention. She whispered, ‘Help me, Ellie.’

‘What d’you mean?’

Lucy pushed her face so close to Elinor’s that their skin was almost touching.

‘I feel so sick. I can’t tell you. I’m about to meet Ed’s mum and he isn’t here to support me and our whole future depends upon what she thinks of me. Honestly, if you weren’t here, I couldn’t face it, I simply couldn’t. I know you’ve got to look after your sister a bit, but please don’t leave me, please.’ Her fingers dug into Elinor’s arm. ‘After all, Ellie, you’re the only sensible person here who knows.’

‘Hello,’ Mrs Ferrars said, not looking at Elinor, ‘I don’t know which of you girls is which. I told Fanny there’d be too many of you, and I’d never remember. So don’t expect me to.’

‘I won’t,’ Marianne said loudly from beside her sister.

Mrs Ferrars did not appear to hear her. She was a small scowling woman in an expensive dark dress with gnarled little hands knobbly with diamonds.

‘We are Fanny’s sisters-in-law,’ Elinor said helpfully.

Mrs Ferrars sniffed.

Elinor shot out a hand and gripped Marianne’s nearest one warningly. She said, ‘We were brought up at Norland. We know Harry.’

Mrs Ferrars looked past them both. ‘Harry is my grandson.’

‘Yes, we know that.’

Mrs Ferrars’s eyes, as small and dark as currants, shifted their focus to anything but the Dashwood girls in front of her. She said, as if making an announcement, ‘Harry will inherit Norland.’

‘Yes, we know that too.’

‘And we don’t care,’ Marianne said. ‘If that’s what you mean.’

Mrs Ferrars stiffened slightly. ‘Where’s Fanny?’ she demanded.

‘Here, Mother,’ Fanny said, materialising beside her. She flashed a perfunctory smile at Elinor and Marianne. ‘Lovely you could come.’ She took her mother’s nearest arm with a hand, Elinor couldn’t help noticing, that it was identical to Mrs Ferrars’s, only younger. ‘Mother, I’m sure Ellie and Marianne will forgive us, but I want you to meet some adorable new friends of ours. The sweetest girls. Harry adores them.’

‘Girls?’ Mrs Ferrars said with a little grimace.

Fanny gave another mirthless smile in Elinor and Marianne’s direction.

‘Yes, girls, Mother. Divine girls. Mary and I are just mad about them and you know how you love young people!’

Mrs Ferrars regarded her daughter. She sniffed again. ‘Do I?’ she said.

Fanny gave a playful little laugh. ‘Oh, these ones you will!’ She threw a fleeting glance towards her sisters-in-law. ‘Supper soon,’ she said, as if food was plainly all that they had come for. ‘A buffet, as we’re so many, but all Ottolenghi. Don’t you just adore their cooking?’