‘It reminds me of 1947,’ Edward said from the rocking chair by the kitchen hearth. He was still a handsome man, white-haired, a little bent, but still active, refusing to give way to old age. ‘Do you remember? Robert took a rowing boat out and helped rescue people and brought them here, and you and Claudia wrapped them in blankets and gave them tea and soup.’

‘I remember. It was a terrible time.’ Valleys all over the country had become lakes; the Fens, so close to Upstone Hall, had become a vast inland sea. Field after field had become inundated, the farmers lost their crops, cows had to be rescued using boats. But it was not only the floods, the shortages and the strikes which made it terrible, but the fact that Robert had not been able to settle down in civilian life and gone back into the navy. She sometimes wondered if he needed to get away from Upstone and her memories. However careful she was not to mention Alex or Yuri, he knew she could never completely let go. It filled her with guilt because her husband deserved to be more than second best.

He had left very early that morning to return to duty. The war in Korea between the Communist North and the non-Communist South had been going on for three years. South Korea was being backed by troops from America and Britain and it involved the Royal Navy.

‘When Robert comes home again, I think you should think about taking a holiday,’ Edward said, almost as if he had read her mind. ‘He needs you to himself sometimes, you know. Claudia will look after the children.’ Claudia was still with them, but for how much longer, Lydia did not know. The fifty-year-old was courting a bus driver who drove the bus that passed their gate and took passengers into Upstone. Apart from two women who came in daily, she was the only live-in servant left, though no one thought of her in those terms. She was a friend and helpmate to everyone, especially the children, whom she adored. She had told Lydia she was torn in two when Reggie had proposed, not wanting to leave Upstone Hall, but Lydia had told her not to be so silly and to go ahead.

‘I know. We’ll talk about it when the time comes.’ She finished putting Tatty’s coat on and buttoning it up, then turned to Bobby. ‘Are you ready? Have you got your lunch and your football boots?’

‘Yes, Mum.’ He picked up his satchel and all three said cheerio to Edward and left by the kitchen door. The wind was still howling round the house and it was raining hard. Water was streaming down the drive like a small river.

The school was within easy walking distance and usually she encouraged the children to walk there and back, but today even she was struggling to stand upright. ‘I think I’d better take you in the car today,’ she said. In 1950 when petrol rationing was abolished, Robert had bought Lydia a new Morris Minor.


The storms abated at last. Over three hundred people had lost their lives, twenty-four thousand houses had been damaged, some beyond repair. In the countryside thousands of animals drowned and fields inundated by salt water could not grow crops. Winston Churchill, who had been returned as prime minister after the general election of 1951, declared it a national disaster.

Stalin died in March and Lydia wondered if it would make any difference to East-West relations. The entente of the war years had soon disappeared and the Soviet Union and its satellites were as cut off from the Western world as they had been when Churchill spoke of an iron curtain. Any news from Russia set Lydia thinking of Alex and Yuri; she supposed she would never stop thinking of them, but the pain had dulled, leaving a quiet nostalgia that she deliberately kept at bay. To let it come to the forefront of her mind would be a catastrophe and unfair to Bob and her children. They deserved the very best she could do for them.

One happy event was the coronation of Queen Elizabeth on the second of June, which was televised almost in its entirety. It was a day of great pageantry, which the country loved. They turned out in their thousands to watch the procession as Elizabeth travelled to Westminster Abbey in the golden State Coach.

The Korean War ended and Robert came home in time to take them all on holiday in Scotland during the school holiday. The weather was kind to them, and they had a lovely time, walking in the Highlands and sailing on the lochs. They returned sunburnt and happy, and then Robert and Lydia left the children at Upstone and went to Balfour Place for a long weekend. They wandered about doing nothing in particular, seeing the sights, shopping, going to the theatre and making love. ‘We’ll do more of this when I leave the service,’ Robert said.

‘Are you thinking of leaving?’

He laughed. ‘They’ll kick me out when my time’s up.’

‘What do you want to do? Afterwards, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.’ He paused, then went on in a rush. ‘Lydia, don’t you think it’s time we bought our own home? We can’t live with Sir Edward for ever.’

She was startled. It was the last thing she had expected. ‘Why not? It’s plenty big enough for all of us. And you know Papa loves having the children round him.’

‘It’s too big,’ he said. ‘An anachronism. It costs the earth to keep up, even though we only use half of it. If we bought a nice house, near the sea, he could have a small bungalow nearby.’

‘He’d hate that. And it isn’t as if he’s poor.’

‘No, he isn’t, but that’s half my point. We rely on him too much. It makes me feel less of a man.’

‘Robert, I never heard such nonsense. You’re all man.’ She gave a cracked laugh. ‘I can testify to that.’

He managed a half-grin, though he was too concerned with making his point to laugh at her joke. ‘I want us to have a home of our own, you, me and the children. Can’t you understand that?’

‘In a way I can, but it’s just masculine pride. I can’t imagine what life would be like living anywhere but Upstone Hall. It’s my home, Robert, the only one I’ve ever known. Even when I was in Russia with Kolya, all I wanted to do was get back to it.’

‘Will you at least think about what I’ve said?’

‘Yes, I’ll think about it.’

She did, but it always came back to one thing: she could not bear to leave Upstone and her father. ‘It would seem like ingratitude,’ she told Robert when he brought the subject up again. And because he loved her, he gave up.

In September Bobby went to Gresham’s boarding school, Sir Edward’s old school, and Holt was near enough for him to be fetched home for weekends, though Papa didn’t think that was a good idea. ‘He should stay and take part in the weekend activities,’ he told Lydia. ‘There’s always something going on: sport, drama, music, cadets.’

Lydia missed him dreadfully but he settled down well and wrote frequently about new friends he had made, what he had done and the things he intended to do. Left behind, Tatty informed her one day that she wanted to learn to ride. ‘My friend Chloe has a pony,’ she announced. ‘He’s called Tubby, ’cos he’s a roly-poly. I asked Grandpa and he says he doesn’t see why not.’

Lydia smiled at the way her daughter unashamedly used her grandfather to get her own way. ‘Did he? I rode a lot when I was young.’

‘So I can, can’t I?’

‘If you are good.’

‘I am good.’ It was said loudly and vehemently. So Tatty got her pony, took to riding like a duck to water and started competing in local gymkhanas. She always took the rosettes she won to show Grandpa before hanging them on her bedroom wall. The child idolised him, which was another reason in Lydia’s mind for not moving.


Another year passed, a year in which rationing finally ended after fourteen years; children were able to buy their lollipops, gobstoppers and chocolate without having to produce coupons; Roger Bannister became the first man to run a mile in under four minutes; rock and roll came to Britain from America with Bill Haley singing ‘Rock Around the Clock’, something the youth of the country took to their hearts, but which the older generation deplored.


Lydia fetched Bobby home from school for the following Christmas holidays in thick freezing fog. ‘We’ve been talking in class about what we want to do when we leave,’ he told her as she drove very slowly along the country roads. The windscreen wipers were sticking to the ice on the glass and she had to stop every now and again to get out and scrape it off.

‘Goodness, that’s a long way off.’

‘I know, but we’ve been told to think about it because it’s important to know where you’re going in life and we have to decide what exams we want to take.’ At eleven years old he was tall for his age, a well-built lad with fair hair and blue eyes like his father. He had other traits of Robert’s too: thoughtfulness and consideration and a way of looking at her which made her want to hug him, but hugging was definitely out; he considered himself too old for that. ‘I think I’d like to be a diplomat like Grandpa.’

‘He’d like that,’ she said.

‘Perhaps they’ll send me to Russia.’

‘Would you like to go?’

‘I wouldn’t mind. After all, I’ve got roots there, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, but I doubt you’ll be able to find any connections now,’ she said, as she drew up outside the house. ‘It’s been too long and Russia has changed.’


Christmas Day was dull but overcast, but it did not dampen their spirits. They all went to church, including Claudia who was still with them, but would be going to spend the afternoon and evening with her fiancé after Christmas dinner. Poor Claudia, she was as undecided as ever.

‘Time for presents,’ Tatty said as soon as the meal came to an end and they all left the table and trooped into the drawing room, where a large tree stood in the corner glittering with lights and tinsel. Beneath it was a heap of colourfully wrapped parcels. Tatty acted as postman and soon everyone was unwrapping presents, exclaiming and thanking the givers.

Lydia watched them all: her father, husband – home on Christmas leave – children and best friend and sent up a little prayer of thanks for her good fortune. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, she prayed another child, fourteen years old now, was also enjoying his Christmas, even if it wasn’t called Christmas anymore.


The fog lifted, but at the beginning of January it snowed and it continued to snow for a week, made worse by blizzards which piled it up against walls and hedges, and covered cars. More than seventy roads were blocked and hundreds of vehicles abandoned in drifts. Trains couldn’t run and everyone was struggling to get to work; schools were shut and livestock was dying and old people suffering. Lydia did what she could to help those old people in the village, trudging out in wellington boots, taking soup in thermos flasks and making sure they had heating.

Ice grew thicker and thicker on ponds and rivers, much to Tatty’s delight, who informed them that the ice on the lake was several inches thick.

‘You are not to go on it,’ Lydia said. ‘The water is deep, and if you go through, you’ll never get out. You heard the news, children drowning all over the place falling through the ice. I don’t want you to be one of them.’

‘No, but Mum, they’ve flooded the fen at Earith and that’s only a few inches deep. They’re going to hold the speed skating championships there. The snowploughs have cleared the roads; my friend, Chloe, told me so.’

And so they all went in Edward’s Bentley: Edward, Robert, Lydia, Bobby and Tatty. The large expanse of ice was crowded as everyone for miles around came to take advantage of the rare chance to skate and watch the speed trials. Those without skates walked on the ice, slid and fell over laughing. Tatty was soon whizzing about, followed by a less-sure Bob. Lydia and Robert went hand in hand more sedately, while Edward watched from the warmth of the car.

‘It’s like a Russian winter,’ Lydia said, cheeks glowing.

She was, Robert decided, looking especially beautiful. ‘You don’t remember Russian winters, do you?’

‘Not as a child, except that dreadful day when Andrei was killed, but it was pretty cold that first year of the war. You remember, you were there.’

‘So I was, but I didn’t have much time to notice the weather.’

‘No, you were too busy looking after me. You saved my life – not only my life, but my sanity, and I never thanked you enough, did I?’

‘Just being you, and loving me as you do, is all the thanks I need and want, sweetheart.’

It was an ambiguous statement which made her realise how he must feel about a marriage that was perfect except for one missing ingredient. His stoic acceptance of that made her feel guilty. She made a resolution to try even harder to love him as she ought.