In this Foreign Land

by Suzie Hull

Genres: World War I; Sagas; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

March, 1914. When talented artist Isobel embarks on a journey to Egypt, it's to reunite her best friend Alice with her husband, Wilfred - and to use the stunning sights of Cairo as inspiration for her own paintings. A whirlwind romance was the last thing she expected, but when Isobel meets Wilfred's handsome brother, Edward, neither can deny the strong connection between them - especially when unexpected tragedy strikes. Just as they get to grips with their grief, WW1 erupts, and the lovers are forced to separate. They promise to meet again in London. But when Edward is listed as 'missing - presumed dead' only weeks after landing in France, Isobel is devastated, unmarried and on the brink of ruin. She has only one way to save her honour . . . but it means betraying the love she holds so dear.

Release date: November 25, 2021

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

No 5 British Red Cross Hospital, Abbeville, France, March 1916

The motor ambulance ground to a halt on the road; ice clinging to the rims and windshield, grains of snow driven into every possible crevice. An officer was waiting in front of the low wooden hut. Grey bushy eyebrows almost hidden under his peaked cap, dusted white with the snowfall. His face was heavily lined from years spent soldiering under the blistering sun, and he chewed silently on an empty pipe. He strode round to the rear of the vehicle when the doors were opened, gloved hands clasped behind his back.

A nurse and an orderly sat in the vehicle, both well covered up, warding off the intense cold which had slunk in from the east and threatened to overwhelm everyone. The patient on the stretcher could have been a ghost there was so little of him. The skin over his skull was paper thin, and every vein was outlined like the map of the Nile delta. His body was hard to discern under the mound of blankets covering him.

‘Is this my boy?’ the colonel asked, all clipped tones, brusque and business-like.

‘This is Lieutenant Edward Dunwoody, sir, Royal Irish,’ the nurse answered, clambering down.

The older officer dipped his head so she wouldn’t see the glimmer of an unshed tear in his eye. ‘That’s him.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’re safe now, my boy.’ He stood back and waited whilst the orderlies carried his son into the hut.

‘You may come in now. Two minutes only,’ the nurse said, holding the door ajar against the bitter wind.

He stamped his feet to get the blood flowing through his toes again and removed his empty pipe, thrusting it deep into his pocket. Following the back of the nurse who had accompanied the patient from Belgium, he came to a halt next to his son, almost invisible within the small iron bed frame.

The colonel sat, uncomfortable, on the wooden chair. The mound in the bed didn’t resemble his son. His last memories of Edward, eighteen months ago, were of a tall, strapping, muscular man, with a healthy tan to his skin from his months living in Cairo. Now, the spindly arms reminded him of twigs they used for kindling back home in Ireland.

At least his boy was clean now.

Not everything was clean though. He saw small scraps of grubby paper within his son’s finger and thumb and bent forward to examine it. A face perhaps, it was hard to tell, faded and discoloured. He prised it from his hands.

‘Don’t touch that,’ the nurse shouted. ‘Please don’t.’

Too late; the inert body sprang to life, defying the disease which had ravaged it.

‘Isobel.’ The words got louder, until he was roaring, disturbing the whole ward. His body convulsing with the disturbance. ‘Isobel!’

The nurse deftly intervened and retrieved the small filthy photos, giving them back to the son. She closed his fingers around them, whispering soothing words. When he was calm, she stood again and spoke to the older officer.

‘Please don’t do that. He can’t be without them. It’s his wife and son, you must understand that. He needs to hold onto his photographs.’

The colonel stood, straightened his shoulders and slowly, but with great authority, spoke to her. ‘She’s not his wife, and she’s dead.’ He snatched the small photos from his son’s hand and stuffed them into his pocket. ‘The sooner he accepts that the better it is for everyone.’ Back ramrod straight, he exited the hut, ears deaf to the commotion that erupted behind him.

RMS Oceana, March 1914

The doors to the First-Class salon burst open onto the deck and a fug of smoke and perfume spilled out, dispersing in the night air.

‘Come and dance, Isobel,’ Cecily called, as she raced across the wooden deck, her chiffon dress billowing in the breeze. She slithered to a stop and reached across to take a quick draw on her sister’s cigarette.

Isobel admired the stamina of her younger sister. ‘My feet hurt. Don’t yours?’

‘Never! Whilst Mother isn’t here to spoil our fun, I could dance all night.’

Isobel laughed but refused to move. ‘I’m keeping Alice company. Go back inside, darling, I’ll see you later.’

Cecily handed back the cigarette to Isobel and then dashed off again towards the dancefloor inside the salon.

‘Find me later,’ Isobel called.

Cecily fluttered her fingers in response before being swallowed up by the gay laughter and dance music.

Isobel stayed by the ship’s railing with Alice, as the Oceana sliced through the dark Mediterranean waters. They had already been dancing for hours, but it was only just past midnight. The resident band would be playing a few more hours yet as dance partners waltzed and quick-stepped their way around the dance floor, ladies in their silk dresses and the men in military dress jackets, regardless of how stuffy the room was.

‘You can dance if you want to. I shan’t mind,’ Alice said, holding her champagne cocktail and standing next to her friend.

‘No, really. All those eager young lieutenants are getting a bit annoying.’ It was the way they spoke about the other non-British passengers on board, and the crew, that she didn’t like. The horrid things they said and in such loud voices. Isobel turned to look out at the sea, dangling her head over the rail, inhaling the salty air and delighting in the refreshing spray from errant waves which broke at the front of the ship. ‘Will it be like this in Cairo?’

‘Like what? Being over-run with more dance partners than you can get used to? I should think so. There are plenty of regiments in Egypt.’

‘No, I meant…’ she didn’t finish. Her friend had grown up with a father who had served in the Colonial Service, their house had probably been overrun with visiting military men and their wives, so she wouldn’t understand. ‘When will you see Wilfred?’

‘Hopefully he and Edward will be waiting for us when we dock in Alexandria, but he said not to count on it. You will write when we return to his regiment, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, silly. Nervous?’

Alice shrugged, but stared out at the velvet blue sky, suspended with dewdrops of sparkling stars. ‘Wouldn’t you be if you hadn’t seen your husband for months?’

Isobel hung over the railing even further. A gust of warm night air tugged against her peacock-feathered headdress, dislodging it, and it disappeared overboard. ‘Golly! How unfortunate!’ Her laughter echoing around the empty deck. ‘Anyway, I’m not getting married. I’ve told you countless times. I’m going to be stunningly successful and exhibit at the Royal Institute in London and everyone will talk about my paintings.’

‘You don’t fool me, Isobel,’ Alice teased. ‘Edward wouldn’t have pleaded with you to come to Cairo if he wasn’t interested!’

‘We’re old friends. Edward doesn’t think of me in that way. Besides, his letters are full of a Miss Lucy Hartington now.’ She barely concealed her disquiet. She and Edward had been friends since childhood, Wilfred too, although he’d always been the older, stuffy brother. No, despite what her heart ached for, she had convinced herself that Edward had just been friendly when he’d encouraged her and her sister Cecily to accompany Alice out to Egypt. ‘Anyway. I’m not getting married and that’s that.’

‘Really.’

‘Alice, can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ She chuckled. ‘Is it about Edward?’

‘Yes, and no. I mean, I’ve travelled all this way with you, and it’s been lovely. More than lovely – it’s been everything I’ve always wanted, but it’s not as though anything is going to happen. I mean…’ She blushed deeper, thinking about him. She still didn’t know if Edward liked her in that way and it made everything so much more complicated. ‘Just suppose someone did ask me to marry them, someone I liked?’

Alice’s eyebrow rose but she was smiling. ‘A man doesn’t contrive to invite you half-way across the world if he doesn’t like you, Isobel!’

Inside she was a mass of doubts. She lifted her glass and swallowed down the last of her cocktail, then nibbled on the cherry while she thought things through. ‘But, that’s not all I meant to ask. It’s about marriage you see. I always said I’d never get married. I frustrated every attempt Mother made to find a suitable young man for me. I was rude, I was unladylike, I was downright shocking sometimes.’

‘You were afraid,’ Alice said quietly.

Surprised she looked closer at her friend. ‘Weren’t you?’

Alice didn’t answer to start with, looking out at the sea that had carried them from Naples all this way to a new continent. ‘Of Wilfred? No, I think you have his character wrong.’

Isobel barely managed to stop herself snorting in disagreement. There were plenty of words she could think of that described him…

‘You think he is…’

Isobel was going to say stuffy, or stuck up, but she decided upon a less harsh sounding word. ‘Serious.’

‘He’s shy,’ Alice said.

‘He’s not.’ Shy was the last word she’d pick. Snooty, imperious, conceited… plenty of words that meant he was awkward or looked down on her. There were numerous occasions when he’d been too quick to correct her, she could think of a dozen right now. The New Year’s Eve party back in Belfast just before the two brothers had sailed back to Egypt sprang to mind.

Edward had asked her for the first dance as he normally did, and then she’d had to wait until supper to see him again. She’d lifted more than a few glasses of champagne during the evening; nerves as usual had caught her on the hop. Wilfred had appeared at her elbow just as she’d been about to lift yet another glass and his impeccable vowels had sliced through the air. I’d say four glasses was enough, wouldn’t you, Isobel? His words and the insinuation behind them wounded her, her cheeks still heated thinking about it now. Why don’t you dance with me instead of waiting for Edward and getting yourself improperly drunk? No, she wouldn’t say he was shy.

‘Yes, he is. And slightly jealous of you both, if you really want to know.’

Isobel clutched the ship’s railings and just stared, open mouthed at her friend.

‘He said that you and Edward fitted together so seamlessly as children that he always felt jealous of your friendship, and your confidence. Yes, he did.’ Isobel was shaking her head. ‘I believe he recognises that you are talented but believes that talent threatens Edward’s happiness.’

‘He does disapprove!’ Isobel grasped this with glee. ‘I always knew it. His mother too. She dislikes me. It’s my painting, isn’t it?’

‘They do love Edward, you know,’ Alice said, touching her gently on the arm. ‘His parents just want the best for him, even if that is slightly misleading.’

‘But, we’re getting away from my question.’

‘We are. Which was…?’

‘Are you afraid of losing yourself now that you are married. Having to put your own needs last?’

‘I see.’ Alice hesitated, taking the opportunity to fix a stray dark curl that had escaped her elaborate hairstyle. She turned, allowing Isobel to help her thread it back under the headband she wore. ‘Well, the answer is, Wilfred is warm and funny and kind, even if you can’t see that. I didn’t fear marriage to Wilfred, but I am a little afraid of marriage to the army. Getting stuck in some far away place, with stupefying heat and being lonely. I fear my parents will miss me dreadfully and I… them.’ Her voice broke, shattering the myth that Isobel had carried that her friend was always strong. ‘Look after them for me, won’t you?’ Unshed tears glittered in her eyes.

‘I will. Truly I will.’

The two women stood side by side, holding on to one another, both thinking of their futures, as the silver-white moon hung low over the sea and lit up their path to Alexandria. The sounds from the raucous dance were muffled inside the ship. Here, beside the rail, the noise of breaking waves mingled with the waterfall of beads that trimmed both ladies’ dresses, tinkling in the breeze.

Isobel breathed in the night air – a heady mixture of sea salt, Turkish cigarettes and Alice’s new perfume she’d bought in Paris. Isobel tried to imprint it all in her mind. Their last night together before they arrived in Egypt.

‘Let’s not go to bed tonight, Alice! Let’s stay up and watch the sun rise for the first time over Egypt.’

‘You have your head in the stars, Izzy, but I like it. We’ll need more champagne though, and blankets. I’m not prepared to see the sun rise with cold feet. Deal?’

Isobel’s insides squirmed with delight. In a matter of hours, a new day would dawn, and her head was spinning with the opportunities it might bring her. ‘Absolutely, Alice. A night like this calls for more champagne.’

Standing on the promenade deck, Isobel squinted into the distance. A dark smudge appeared where minutes earlier it hadn’t existed. In a matter of hours, she would be standing on a whole new continent, and who knew what sort of life might be waiting for her?

After starting out overcast and drizzly when they left Naples, the wind had picked up for the first day of their sailing but improved yesterday, and last night had been a balmy, perfect night, followed by this equally calm morning. Mrs Finch and Cecily had resigned themselves to staying in their cabins for the first day and resting, and only Mr Finch, Alice and Isobel had bravely marched around the open promenade deck. When she had felt a little better Cecily had joined them, sitting on the veranda in a lounge chair, doing her best not to move. She’d been in high enough spirits last night for the dance though, and Isobel had noted the interest with which one young lieutenant had paid her younger sister.

Isobel and Cecily were travelling with the Finches and their daughter Alice, Mother having declared that Egypt was far too hot and dusty to suit her and Rosalie, their younger sister, and she’d point blank refused to cross the Mediterranean by sea. Instead, the pair of them had taken the opportunity to travel around Europe, visiting all the main capital cities. Isobel was delighted. It meant she would be able to see Edward again without the cloying, soul-destroying presence of her mother. Now, as she leaned on the rail, watching the water splash under the bow of the ship, she could feel a thrill of excitement building inside her – how would it be between the two of them?

Mrs Finch joined them on deck as the morning slipped past and they observed the African coastline looming up ahead. Little boats with large white sails bobbed about under the bow of the ship and by eleven o’clock in the morning they were guided towards the harbour.

‘Your first voyage across the Mediterranean, my dears,’ Mr Finch commented to the two sisters. ‘How did you find it?’

‘Wonderful, Mr Finch, a delight!’ both sisters replied.

‘Shame on you, dear, for asking. Can’t you see how they feel by the way their eyes are shining?’ his wife commented. ‘This is a little more exciting than the volcanic stones of Ireland, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Absolutely!’ Isobel still hadn’t got over her good fortune at having been introduced to Alice and her parents. They had fallen into a friendship that was as comfortable as a well-worn pair of kid gloves. Alice hadn’t waited long before suggesting that both sisters join her on her trip out to Egypt.

‘Mr Finch, Mrs Finch, Mrs Dunwoody and ladies, I have come to say goodbye.’ Lieutenant Fitzsimmons made a sharp bow to the small group, but it was plain to see his eyes were focused only on Cecily. ‘As I am stationed in Cairo, I was hoping we might meet again for tea, or dinner perhaps?’

‘Of course, we will. As soon as we are settled, we’ll send you a card,’ Mr Finch replied.

‘Mr Finch, ladies.’ Lieutenant Fitzsimmons bowed again, before returning to his fellow officers who were also returning to their respective battalions of the British Army, at present stationed in Cairo.

Isobel squeezed Cecily’s arm as they stood next to each other watching the miniature figures just in sight on the quayside below them, scurrying back and forth with a numerous number of boxes, bags and bundles.

‘He’s very sweet, Cecily.’

Cecily, who was avoiding eye contact with her sister, merely nodded.

‘Oh, look at the two men over there,’ Mrs Finch remarked. ‘Is that Wilfred do you think?’

‘It couldn’t be. He said not to get my hopes up.’

‘Are you sure, my dear? There are two men down there and the one in uniform looks remarkably like your Wilfred.’

‘Honestly, Mother, you think every man in uniform is Wilfred. How many times this trip have you remarked, doesn’t that man look remarkably like your Wilfred?’

‘I have binoculars, Alice, do look.’ Cecily handed over a pair that she had borrowed. Alice took them and peered down at the two men.

‘Oh, Mother, it is. He came out early to surprise me.’

‘There see, he’s missed you already. And who else is with him, alongside the native gentleman in the tarboosh? The man in the pale suit?’

‘Why, I think it’s his brother,’ Alice grinned at her friend. ‘Well, Isobel, Edward has arrived to see you too.’

Heat flooded into Isobel’s cheeks, leaving her lost for words. The moment she had been waiting for, dreaming of for weeks was finally here. Her heart hammered in her chest. What if he was different again after the few months apart? What if he no longer desired her company? Oh, what would she find to say to him?

‘Isobel, I do believe your cheeks match the colour of your dress and your hair. At least you have a cream lace collar on it, otherwise it might be a little difficult finding you under it all,’ teased Cecily.

‘They’re here,’ she whispered to nobody but herself. The wait while the two men navigated the inside of the steamer before appearing out on deck felt like more than a thousand summer days. But the many nights spent dreaming of this moment was swept aside as Edward appeared breathless by her side.

‘Isobel,’ he said gently, peering under her summer hat. ‘How lovely to see you.’

Regardless of the company standing around them, he lifted her hand gingerly to his lips, holding her gaze. Like a butterfly, his lips touched the back of her hand and her legs turned to jelly. ‘Hello, Edward,’ was all she could whisper back, gazing into his bronzed face. Those amber eyes that gazed back were so familiar. His smile seemed to begin within his heart and radiate out from his very soul. ‘This is very pleasant, isn’t it?’ Instantly she cringed. Why hadn’t she mentioned something more interesting?

Distracted for a second by the noise to their left, they joined in the laughter as Wilfred had Alice in his arms and was spinning her around the deck. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed by good fortune and love. Isobel had a whole month at least to spend in Egypt and hoped she would see Edward most days.

He laughed at her. ‘Well yes, I suppose the day is pleasant. More so for seeing you though. No daring escapades on the way over? No pirates or storms to alarm you?’

‘No, none at all, but now you’re teasing me.’ Blushing even more, she cast her eyes to the deck rather than meet his own and fiddled with her gloves.

‘Sorry, Izzy. It is nice to see you again though, all the same.’

‘Now, my dears, all this emotion! It is so nice to see you two gentlemen. It is a pity you missed Lieutenant Fitzsimmons, Edward and Wilfred.’ Mrs Finch dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief.

‘You don’t mean Tom, do you, Mrs Finch?’ Wilfred asked.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I met him as we boarded the ship. He and I were in Sandhurst together. I told him to call on us as soon as he could. Now, ladies, if are you ready, I am to escort you to lunch, whilst Edward will assist Mr Finch here in gathering all your luggage.’ Wilfred held both his arms out, one for Alice and the other for his mother-in-law. ‘Isobel and Cecily, stick close behind me.’

Isobel held tight to Cecily as they descended the gangplank and landed in the melee of the quayside. People of every nationality crushing in around them, going about their day, calling in all sorts of different languages. The two sisters dodged donkeys with overloaded panniers sticking out either side as they tried to keep up with Wilfred. Isobel jumped when a camel opened its mouth and let out an enormous bellow right in front of them. The smell of human sweat and warm animals and a constant haze of dust as the animals jolted along, swinging their tails and scattering more dust and dirt as they went was nearly more than she could cope with. Be brave, Izzy, she muttered. You wanted an adventure, and this is it.

‘Come along, Isobel,’ Cecily pleaded, as she stopped for a moment, taking it all in. Men wearing flowing gowns were pulling on a camel next to them, forcing it down to the ground. Perched precariously on its back was an elaborately carved large wooden box with colourful silk curtains. The door in the side opened and Isobel could make out the lady’s eyes, sharply defined with black lines around them, and a ring through her nose but the rest of her was covered from her head to her toes in black silk. The lady emerged, head and shoulders first, then hands, reaching out to hold onto the door, the sound of her jewellery tinkling against itself reaching Isobel’s ears. Then came her legs, and a flash of silk hidden under the black, before Isobel gasped with admiration when she saw her feet; bare within her leather sandals except for beautiful silver rings around her toes. She climbed down, and the crowd pressed in around and she disappeared as the tide of people carried on. The camel rocked as it lumbered to its feet and then it too set off again.

Cecily pulled her along, determined they wouldn’t lose sight of their own party, the backs of whom they could still see in front of them. Mesmerised by everything she saw, Isobel’s eyes darted all around, trying to take it all in. Flies were a constant nuisance around their faces, and she wished she’d pulled a muslin scarf over her hat to protect herself like Mrs Finch and Alice had.

Just as quickly the crowd thinned, and they stopped, breathing in the fresh air, Wilfred raised his arm indicating the direction they were going. ‘Follow me, ladies. Isobel, do keep up!’ They crossed the road avoiding cabs, carts and other tourists and walked towards the calm of the hotel. They rested themselves on rattan chairs sipping cocktails and refreshing lime juice while they waited for Edward and Mr Finch to arrive.

After lunch they boarded the train for Cairo. It was only Cecily and Isobel who exclaimed over the countryside, as the train clattered along. The two young ladies were given the window seats, so they might get the best view. Mr and Mrs Finch were too busy nodding and saying hello to acquaintances they had made on the Oceana, everyone it seemed was travelling on to Cairo.

‘Oh, look, Isobel,’ Cecily said as they passed isolated villages made up of small mud huts, with families sitting outside them. ‘I’m very glad we don’t have to wear those veils. I imagine they are very hot covered up like that.’

‘The fabric looks light, Cecily. See how it blows in the breeze, I imagine it might be cool.’ She tried not to fidget with her own linen dress. The rust-coloured skirt soaking up the sun’s rays was already warm to the touch, and her petticoat and stockings below made her legs burn up. Or perhaps it was because Edward was sitting so close.

Cecily continued to comment on every new thing as they rattled through the desert; a camel train, loaded up with bags and sacks and rolls of cloth, the cloudless cobalt sky, and then the splashes of green where the marshes existed, and the different vegetation that grew there.

Cairo rose majestically out of the desert; elegant minarets, elaborate mosques and fortified buildings appearing in front of them. The golden domes glinted in the afternoon sunshine. Isobel drank it all up, wishing she had the ability to record it all directly upon her drawing pad, and capture the intensity of the colours, so different to the Irish countryside back home, and different even to the shapes and atmosphere of the Riviera. Egypt was as though God had opened an entirely different paint box made up of a unique colour palette that didn’t exist anywhere else except here. There was a pulse to it; a rich boldness that overtook everything she had ever known before.

‘Happy?’ Edward leaned gently sideways in his seat, with the lightest of touches on her gloved hand. His breath tickled her cheek – her heart could not get used to his proximity. If she had to describe how she felt compared to a colour, she would have to pick a shade of scarlet. It was as though there was no longer blood in her veins, but living, breathing vermillion paint, ready to explode out of her and proclaim itself over a pristine white canvas. She had a desire to express how she felt right this minute, but words were not enough. She could only whisper ‘yes’. His hand so close to hers, not even skin to skin, aroused a passion in her she hadn’t even known could exist. The brakes screeched and juddered as they made their way closer into the city and the station. Edward straightened up and put a little distance between them again.

Mrs Finch piped up. ‘Isobel, Cecily, I have been thinking what is best to do now that your mother isn’t here.’ Mrs Harris had written to them when they were still in Cannes to say she and Rosalie would join them after all in Cairo and had booked two adjoining suites for them at Shepheard’s. Isobel had retorted to Cecily that Mother seemed perfectly capable of getting a boat once she thought they were having more fun than she and Rosalie were having. Then they had received a wire in Naples before they boarded the Oceana to say that she was delayed, as they had met up with delightful American friends, and not to expect them for a few more weeks.

‘Indeed, Mrs Finch, I was thinking the same. It wouldn’t be suitable for us to be in Shepheard’s alone.’

‘You have read my mind, Isobel. You always were a sensible girl. So, unless your mother has managed to arrive before us unexpectedly, I suggest Mr Finch and I should stay in Shepheard’s with you, just until she does, and we will cancel our booking at the Continental.’

‘I believe you are right, Mrs Finch. If Wilfred hadn’t surprised Alice turning up unexpectedly like he did, I had imagined that Alice would stay with us, but,’ smiling at Alice, ‘she will be enjoying the company of her husband again.’

‘My thoughts too, Isobel. So, for that matter, I shall instruct Mr Finch to send your luggage and ours over to Shepheard’s immediately and see if we can reserve a table there for dinner. Alice and Wilfred might wish to dine alone this evening. However, we would welcome your company, Edward, very much indeed.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Finch. Dinner invitation accepted. Shepheard’s have dancing every evening during the week too, so I’m certain Isobel and Cecily will not lack for dance partners tonight. And tomorrow you can start with a little sight seeing. Although, I should mention that Mother is also in Cairo.’

Isobel didn’t have the manners to stop her true feelings being expressed on her face. Cecily kicked her ankle and spoke before her. ‘How nice, Edward. We shall look forward to meeting her again soon. Will she be dining with us?’

‘Not tonight. I know she already has plans, but she intends to call on you very soon, Mr and Mrs Finch. I expect we shall see her at the dance though.’

‘How pleasant. We shall look forward to it, Edward,’ Mrs Finch replied with perfect manners.

Isobel tried to nod and look agreeable, but inside she was fuming. His mother! She’d managed to have time apart from her own mother who was always criticising her actions, and instead Edward’s mother was here. Oh, life was utterly unfair. Mrs Dunwoody had not figured in any of her pleasant daydreams in the slightest. She spent the rest of the ride into the station thinking uncharitable thoughts about the woman.

Shepheard’s Hotel, they were soon to discover, had a European look to the building, with its raised sun terrace in front of it and glass canopy; whereas inside, the hotel was quite unlike anything Isobel or Cecily had ever seen before. As they progressed through the lobby, they tried valiantly not to stare at the grand lamp stands, designed as sculptures of half-naked young women, placed symmetrically to each other, their breasts on show for everyone to see. The décor was terribly grand in an oriental style with huge columns and carvings, gold decoration and colourful tiles, a glass dome and Persian rugs adorning the floors.

‘Well, this is quite unique, isn’t it?’ Cecily declared.

‘That is an understatement. Mother may wish she had kept our booking at the Continental after all. Imagine passing them every day on your way to breakfast.’

‘Don’t mention it, Isobel, really you mustn’t!’

‘Well, I’m quite sure, rich American friends or not, she’ll wish she had gone for a European hotel, and not the exotic. Mother isn’t into exotic anything, she may faint.’

The girls tried not to stare as a couple sauntered past them arm in arm. ‘Isobel, isn’t that…?’

‘Yes, but don’t look. We read about them in last week’s Times. I didn’t. . .