‘Maybe.’

‘Who could it be?’

Elinor roused herself slightly. She said, ‘I have no idea. Some friend of Mrs J.’s. Bill, maybe.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Lucy said with emphasis, ‘Bill coming to ask after Marianne.’

The sitting-room door opened, revealing Mrs Jennings holding a tray of mugs and behind her, slightly dishevelled and looking as short of sleep as Elinor felt, was Edward Ferrars.

‘There!’ Mrs Jennings said loudly. ‘One dressed girl, one undressed girl, one young man, and three mugs of coffee!’

She advanced into the room and put the tray down on the low glass table by the television. Neither girl said a word. Edward stood frozen in the doorway, his gaze directed at the ceiling.

Mrs Jennings straightened up. She looked round at them. ‘What on earth’s the matter? Don’t you three know each other?’

Elinor swallowed. She said, ‘Yes, of course, it’s just that I was not expecting – We weren’t—’ She stopped and glanced at Lucy. Lucy was staring out of the window, holding the absurd pose of a fashion model, her lips slightly parted. Elinor looked, cornered as she was, at Edward.

‘Hello, Ed.’

He croaked something in reply, hardly intelligible. Mrs Jennings marched back towards the door.

‘I don’t know what’s going on. With a daughter like Charlotte, tongue-tied isn’t a problem I ever have to face, thank goodness. I’ll be in my bedroom, telephoning, if you want me. Or,’ she added to Elinor, ‘you need an interpreter?’

Elinor said faintly, ‘Thank you for the coffee.’

Mrs Jennings pushed Edward a little further into the room and then bustled out, closing the door resoundingly behind her.

Elinor picked up a mug of coffee and held it out to Lucy. ‘Coffee?’

Lucy gave a little smirk, but didn’t speak. She accepted the coffee and resumed her seat on the sofa, staring into her mug. Elinor looked at Edward. ‘Coffee, Ed?’

‘Thanks,’ he said, not moving.

She held a mug out, offering him the handle so that their fingers need not touch. Lucy lifted her head and regarded them both and, although her pose didn’t alter, her eyes were watchful.

‘How are you?’ Elinor said to him, into the silence.

He took the mug and held it in both hands. ‘Fine. Thanks.’

Elinor waited. The awkwardness in the room was as thick as smoke and she was suddenly conscious of being barefoot in pyjamas with unbrushed hair. She was also seized with a flash of irritation at Edward’s inability to help with any conversation and Lucy’s deliberate refusal. She said, too loudly, ‘Well, before you trouble to ask, Mum is fine, Mags is fine, Marianne is doing OK, and I am about to go back to Devon. When I’ve dressed, that is.’

Edward took a swallow of coffee. He seemed unable to look at either girl. He then said, hesitantly, ‘I’m – I’m so glad if Marianne’s OK.’

‘She’s down,’ Elinor said, ‘but not out. Definitely not out.’

He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Brilliant.’

Elinor looked at Lucy. Lucy seemed perfectly composed now, but in no hurry to help with the conversation. Elinor said to her, ‘You OK?’

Lucy nodded, smiling. ‘Perfectly, thank you.’

‘Well,’ Elinor said, putting her mug down, ‘you two haven’t seen each other for ages. I’ll – I’ll just go and see if Marianne has woken up.’

‘Please …’ Edward said.

‘Please what?’

He sidled behind an armchair. Lucy watched him, still smiling.

‘Please see if she’s awake,’ Edward said. ‘I’d – I’d love to see her.’

Elinor moved towards the door. Lucy didn’t take her eyes from Edward’s face. ‘Me too,’ she said.

‘Ed’s here?’ Marianne cried, starting up in bed. ‘Here? In Mrs J.’s flat?’

‘Yes. He wants to see you.’

Marianne began to rummage about, hanging over the edge of her bed, for her slippers.

‘How fantastic. God, how cheering. A human being after weeks of monsters. Can you see the other one?’

‘You don’t need slippers,’ Elinor said. ‘And – and Lucy’s here.’

Marianne flipped upright and pushed her hair off her face.

‘Lucy?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is she doing here?’

‘I – I don’t know. She just came.’

Marianne climbed off the bed and stood up. She said, grinning, ‘You mean thing, Ellie, leaving him to have to talk to her.’

‘Well, I thought that as they know each other a bit—’

‘Nobody should have to talk to anyone from the Steele family unless at gunpoint. I’m going straight along.’

‘Aren’t you going to brush your hair?’

Marianne looked at her. ‘You haven’t brushed yours.’

‘Mrs J. pounced before I could.’

‘And you’, said Marianne, ‘pounced before I could. Poor Ed.’

She wrenched the bedroom door open and went racing along the corridor towards the sitting room, with Elinor stumbling in her wake.

‘Ed!’ she cried, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘Oh, Ed, I am so pleased to see you!’

Edward, who had hardly moved from his position behind the armchair, returned her embrace as enthusiastically as he could whilst encumbered with a coffee mug. ‘Hi, M, oh, hi, hi.’

‘We’ve been longing to see you! Ellie especially, of course, but me too, to see someone normal, someone from home.’

He held her away from him a little. ‘You’re terribly thin, M.’

‘Oh,’ she said, tossing her hair, ‘that doesn’t matter. I’m fine, I really am. But Ellie’s great. Don’t you think she looks great? As long as Ellie’s OK!’

Elinor caught Lucy’s instant change of expression to one of unmistakable fury. She tried to say something conciliatory, and failed.

Edward said to Marianne, ‘Are you OK here? In London?’

She shook her head. She said quietly, ‘You know what happened?’

‘Yes,’ he said sadly, ‘I heard.’

‘And then’, Marianne said, brightening at the recollection of how dreadful the previous evening had been, ‘we had this family gathering thing, organised – sorry about this, Ed – by your sister, which was beyond awful. Why didn’t you come? It would have made it bearable.’

He shifted slightly. He said, mumbling, ‘I – couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I’d kind of promised someone—’

‘And Edward’, Lucy said, suddenly and sharply, ‘isn’t like the kind of guys you know, Marianne. Edward keeps his word. Don’t you, Ed?’

Marianne stared at her. She said in surprise, ‘I know he does. I know if he says he’ll do something, he will. I know that. What are you on about?’

Elinor turned away, clenching her fists. It was one thing not to like or trust Lucy Steele especially; it was quite another to be on the point of hitting her.

Edward put his mug down on a side table. He said to Marianne, with real affection, ‘I’m so sorry, M, but I’ve got to run.’

She laughed at him. ‘But you’ve only just come!’

‘Just – just wanted to see how you were.’

‘I’m fine. I will be fine. And she’ – gesturing towards Elinor – ‘is the most fantastic sister and person. As you know.’ She leaned forward until her mouth was against his ear. ‘Lucy’ll be gone in a minute, I’m sure she will,’ she whispered. ‘Stay and talk to us.’

He shook his head, even though he was smiling at her. ‘Sorry, M. Got to go.’

He glanced up, his gaze sliding rapidly over Lucy and Elinor. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.

Elinor didn’t speak. Anger at Lucy and disappointment in Edward formed a lump in her throat she didn’t seem able to swallow past. She looked steadfastly ahead, aware of Edward leaving the room, having some brief encounter with Mrs Jennings in the hall and then hearing the slam of the front door behind him. From what seemed like far away, Lucy’s voice said, primly, ‘I ought to be going too.’

Elinor jerked into full consciousness. Marianne had walked past Lucy and flung herself on the sofa, where she was examining her fingernails with fierce concentration.

‘Oh,’ Elinor said.

Lucy moved towards the door. She put her mug down on the side table, close to Edward’s. ‘Busy day,’ she said, and gave a little laugh, ‘and after a really late night!’ She looked at Elinor. ‘You are’, she said with theatrical emphasis, ‘such a trustworthy person. And I do so value that!’

When the front door had slammed for the second time, Marianne uncoiled herself from the sofa. ‘OK, Ellie. Why was she here?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Why was she here, Ellie? Her and Ed?’

Elinor looked out of the window. She said, ‘They’ve known each other for yonks.’

‘And?’

‘No and.’

Marianne marched to the door.

‘OK, Ellie, don’t tell me. But don’t expect me to play games with you either. You hardly give him the time of day, and then she’s here, whatever that means.’

Elinor started to speak but Marianne held up a hand to silence her.

‘Don’t fob me off, Ellie. Something’s going on that’s not good for you, and if you won’t tell me, then you won’t. But don’t expect me, either, Elinor Dashwood, not to smell a rat.’

And then she strode out of the room and left Elinor staring out of the window at the sky.

13

Sir John thumped a heavy bottle down on Belle Dashwood’s kitchen table. Belle, who had not been expecting him and was not prepared for visitors, looked at the bottle in amazement.

‘Champagne!’

He beamed at her. ‘Champagne, indeed! To celebrate.’

‘But’, Belle said, ‘it’s just a Tuesday …’

Sir John put his hands flat on the table, either side of the bottle, and leaned towards her.

‘We’re going to drink to Charlotte. She’s had the baby. Tommy Palmer’s got a son and heir!’

Belle smiled broadly back. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘A whopper,’ Sir John said happily, ‘over nine pounds. Bigger than any of ours. Mary’s gone flying up to London and I imagine the monster-in-law is already barking orders in the hospital. Isn’t it great?’

‘Wonderful! Wonderful. I’d get the girls but they’re not back yet, from Exeter. Margaret had some after-school club.’

‘Then’, Sir John said, grasping the bottle, ‘we’ll have to swig the lot, you and me. Get the glasses!’

‘I haven’t lit a fire yet.’

‘I’ll do that. Come on, come on, Belle, if we’ve got to make a party on our own, then we’ll do it. Abi said to me on the phone that Tommy was all over the place while Char was in labour, and then the moment the baby’s here, he reverts to type and is making out that he can’t tell one end from another and that the poor little blighter looks like Churchill. Abi said he was as exasperating as ever and the baby looks exactly like him, poor little sod.’

He began to march round the kitchen, opening cupboards. ‘Glasses? Glasses?’

‘Here,’ Belle said. ‘But not proper flutes.’

Sir John made an exclamation of false annoyance. ‘No flutes? No flutes?’ He nudged her jovially. ‘Between you and me, Belle, I’d be happy to drink it out of jam jars.’

‘I can’t,’ Elinor said.

She was sitting up in bed, the sleeves of her father’s cardigan pulled down over her knuckles, drinking a mug of tea. On the end of the bed her mother sat, still dressed and still slightly flushed from a quantity of champagne drunk at astonishing speed. She had tried to make Sir John stay for supper, but he had declared that he was off to Portugal in the morning, to visit his factory, and that he needed to sort himself out for an early start. He had roared off into the dark in his Range Rover, and left Belle slightly dazed and with a mild attack of hiccups, to await Elinor and Margaret’s return from Exeter.

She sighed, now, regarding Elinor.

‘Darling, I know it’s exhausting, all this toing and froing to London. But John – and Fanny, I suppose – have asked you to this concert, and Marianne won’t go without you. And you could go and see Charlotte’s baby. Couldn’t you?’

Elinor drooped over her tea mug. ‘I’ve been every weekend, for ages.’

‘I know you have.’

‘And that bus journey is so long. And grim on Sunday nights.’

‘Darling Ellie. Could you just go one more time? Because I think it’s time Marianne came home.’

Elinor’s head jerked up. ‘You what?’

‘Well,’ Belle said carefully, ‘she’s got to face life again, sometime, hasn’t she? You may think I didn’t notice anything but I am aware that we’ve been here more than six months, and she has just drifted about and not really focused on what she’s going to do.’