Letting in the Light

Book 0: The Spindrift Trilogy

by Charlotte Betts

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

Cornwall, 1914. Edith Fairchild's good-for-nothing husband, Benedict, deserted her when their children were babies. Now the children are almost adult, Edith and Pascal, her faithful lover of two decades, are planning to leave their beloved Spindrift artists' community and finally be together. But an explosive encounter between Benedict and Pascal forces old secrets into the light. Then an assassin's bullet fired in faraway Sarajevo sets in motion a chain of events that changes everything. Under the shadow of war, the community struggles to eke out a living. The younger generation enlist or volunteer to support the war effort, facing dangers that seemed unimaginable in the golden summer of 1914. When it's all over, will the Spindrift community survive an unexpected threat?

Release date: January 13, 2022

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

May 1914

Cornwall

The afternoon was hot and breathlessly still, the only sound the humming of bees on the wildflowers in the high, mossy banks of the lane. The sun beat down upon his shoulders and he mopped his forehead, wondering if his journey would prove to be worthwhile.

He rounded a bend in the lane and saw a great copper beech, its purplish leaves silhouetted against the cobalt sky. Drawing closer, he glimpsed a substantial house behind a wall encrusted with lichens and fringed with ferns. He leaned on the gate to study the house and felt a stirring of interest. Built of stone, it was clad in Virginia creeper. There were two wings, set at right angles to the main façade to enclose a paved forecourt on three sides. Billowing lavender lined the central pathway to an elegant Georgian portico. So, Benedict Fairchild had been telling the truth this time. He’d said Spindrift House was very handsome.

A few yards down the lane was a sign pointing to the Spindrift Gallery and he walked between stone pillars into what had once been a cobbled farmyard surrounded by outbuildings. The doors of an ancient, slate-roofed barn stood wide open in welcome.

Inside the barn, the soaring roof was supported by hefty oak beams and clerestory windows illuminated the paintings, photographs and craftwork on display. Clusters of visitors perused the exhibits, whispering to each other, as if they were in church.

A woman in her middle years was sitting at a desk, writing in a ledger. She stood up to greet him with a friendly smile. Her hour-glass figure was trim and her hair almost black, except for a streak of silver at the front. ‘May I help you?’ she asked.

‘I’d like to browse.’

She inclined her head and returned to her desk.

He walked around the gallery, studying the structure of the barn. It seemed sound and might be put to any number of uses, a ballroom or a place to hold weddings perhaps. He paused before a group of small watercolours depicting Spindrift House. His eye was caught by the perfect rendering of the copper beech against the azure sky, exactly as he’d seen it, but in the picture, the Virginia creeper on the sunlit stone was ablaze with autumnal colour. Leaning forward, he deciphered the discreet signature. E. Fairchild. There was something so captivating about the painting, he knew he would have bought it even if the artist hadn’t been Edith Fairchild, Benedict’s wife.

‘I’d like this one,’ he called to the woman at the desk.

Her movements were graceful as she lifted the painting off the wall and wrapped it carefully in tissue and then brown paper.

‘Can you tell me anything about the artist?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘I am the artist. I live and work here in the Spindrift community.’

So this was Benedict Fairchild’s wife! She was highly personable, with the unmistakable glint of intelligence in her green eyes – a beautiful woman still. Whatever could have made Benedict wish to live apart from her?

‘If you’d care to wander around the courtyard,’ she said, ‘you’ll see some of our craftsmen and women busy in their workshops.’

‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

As he was leaving, a young, dark-haired woman hurried through the door and he took a hasty sideways step to avoid a collision.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ she said. She gave him a dimpled smile and lowered dark eyelashes over her hazel eyes.

He bowed his head and watched her as she made a beeline for Edith Fairchild.

‘Mama!’ she said. ‘Have you seen my—’

‘Pearl, shh!’ Her mother put a warning finger to her lips and nodded at the other customers.

Outside, he strolled around the courtyard, where chickens pecked peaceably amongst the cobbles. He peered into a jewellery workshop, where a man and a woman were bent over a workbench, intent upon their craft. The door to a photographic studio stood open. Inside it a girl reclined on a chaise longue before a classical backdrop of Grecian pillars, while the photographer arranged his tripod.

A horse whickered at him over a stable door and he stopped to pat its velvety nose. The rest of the stable block had been converted into artists’ studios with glazed doors. One bore a notice on which was written ‘Studio to rent. Enquire in the gallery’. There was also an old dairy, a cart shed and a coach house. All looked to be in reasonable condition. Some of them might make suitable staff accommodation or could even be converted into annexes with extra bedrooms. Excitement began to bubble through his veins.

Taking a furtive glance behind him, he tiptoed along a gravel path between two of the outbuildings. He passed a walled kitchen garden and, through an opening, saw a girl tending neat rows of vegetables. At the end of the path, he found the main garden. There was a terrace at the back of the house and a wide lawn, bordered with hydrangeas and rhododendrons. He slipped into the shrubbery and worked his way to the end of the property, where he unlatched a gate and went onto the headland. Seagulls circled overhead and a brisk sea breeze ruffled his hair.

As he walked across the clifftop, he recalled the day he’d finally threatened Benedict Fairchild with legal action for failing to settle his gambling debts. He’d been dubious when the man offered him a promissory note instead. Benedict was a slippery character, as others had learned to their cost. He had little ready money and nowadays lived on his expectation of inheriting his mother’s house in Berkeley Square.

‘It’s quite simple,’ Benedict had said. ‘Think of the debt as an investment. If I come into my inheritance, I’ll pay you, with an attractive rate of interest, the day probate is settled. But if Mother is still alive in, say, five years, my sixty percent ownership of Spindrift House will pass to you, in final settlement of the debt. You’ll love the house and it’s worth much more than the debt.’

The murmuring of the Atlantic drew him towards the edge of the cliffs. Catching his breath in delight, he stared at the shining sea, sparkling in the sunshine, and the cove of silvery sand below. His pulse raced. This place was absolutely perfect! He looked back at Spindrift House and, even without having seen the inside, his mind was working out how to convert it into a superb small hotel. The station was nearby and the quaint fishing village of Port Isaac was already popular with summer visitors. Such a project, in this idyllic place, was sure to be a roaring success.

He chewed at his lip while he thought. Spindrift would be an excellent second hotel to add to his investment portfolio and he didn’t want Benedict Fairchild’s cash half as much as this jewel of a property. The first thing was to have their verbal agreement drawn up officially by his own lawyer, nice and tight, so Fairchild couldn’t wriggle out of it. The only fly in the ointment was that, one way or the other, he’d have to persuade the current occupants to leave the house if the project were to succeed. A fleeting pang of regret pricked his conscience at the thought of Edith Fairchild and her enchanting pearl of a daughter being ousted from their home. But no matter what it took, he knew he simply had to have Spindrift House.

June 1914

London

Edith and Pascal caught the train from Cornwall and arrived at her father’s house in Bedford Gardens in the late afternoon. She’d left her childhood home as an eager bride twenty-two years before but her marriage to Benedict had foundered almost before it had begun.

The butler showed them into the drawing room, which looked exactly as she remembered it, with overstuffed sofas upholstered in crimson velvet, gold-embossed wallpaper, heavy damask curtains, dark furniture, and every flat surface smothered with ornaments.

Edith’s father, silver-haired and substantially built, came forward eagerly to greet her. ‘Did you have a good journey, my dear?’

She kissed his cheek. ‘We did. Papa, may I introduce Pascal Joubert? Pascal, this is my father, Edward Hammond.’ It was important to her that her sole surviving parent should warm to the man she’d loved for so long.

Pascal, darkly handsome in his new suit, limped forward and offered his hand. ‘It is very good of you to invite me to stay, Mr Hammond.’ His voice was only lightly accented nowadays.

‘Delighted to meet any of Edith’s friends, of course, and young Jasper has told me how much you’ve supported him in his chosen career. He’s delighted you’ll be attending his graduation exhibition tomorrow.’

‘We have anticipated the event with great pleasure,’ said Pascal. ‘Jasper is a gifted artist, like his mother.’ He smiled at Edith.

‘Can’t deny I’d have preferred the boy to go into one of the professions,’ said Mr Hammond, ‘and I might have found him a position at the bank, but he displays a great passion for his art.’ He frowned and smoothed his moustache. ‘I hope he’ll combine it with good commercial sense and make a decent living.’

‘I’m sure he will, Papa,’ said Edith. ‘After all, he wouldn’t have been awarded a studentship at the Slade if he hadn’t shown promise.’

Mr Hammond waved them to sit down. ‘Jasper’s worked hard,’ he said. ‘Young Lucien’s not work-shy either. Both your boys are a credit to you, Edith, and I’ve enjoyed having them lodging with me. It’s done me good to have some young blood around the place. I’ll miss Jasper a great deal when he returns to Cornwall. Still, Lucien will keep me company here until he qualifies.’

‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for them over the last few years,’ said Edith.

‘Think nothing of it. When that toad of a husband of yours left you in the lurch, I promised I’d pay all the boys’ school fees and so forth, didn’t I? Besides,’ her father’s voice was gruff, ‘I’m fond of them.’

‘And they’re very fond of you.’

‘Lucien will join us for dinner,’ he said, ‘but Jasper may be late. He has to finish setting up his exhibition for tomorrow. Tell me now, how are my granddaughters?’

‘Pearl has been assisting Pascal’s cousin Wilfred,’ said Edith. ‘Do you remember him? He was a student at the Slade with me, along with my friends Dora and Clarissa. Although Wilfred’s best known as an illustrator, he has a thriving sideline in interior decoration. Pearl offered to help him place orders and deal with clients and she’s showing an aptitude for the aesthetic side of the business too.’

‘Can’t she find a husband?’

Edith laughed. ‘I’m not sure she wants that yet. And many young women are employed these days, Papa.’

‘I suppose she’ll be wanting the vote next?’

‘And why not?’ said Edith, lifting her chin.

‘I suspect it might exhaust me, trying to argue with you about that,’ said her father, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘The country’s in a bad enough state with the workers’ strikes, without the wretched suffragettes waging war on all men.’

‘Any intelligent person, if they stop to consider it,’ said Edith, ‘must avow that there is great inequality between the sexes.’

‘No doubt you’re right, my dear, but do these women have to be so strident and unfeminine? I tell you, these continuing dark forces of unrest will bring about the decline of the Empire.’

‘Really, Papa, you do exaggerate. If anyone brings the Empire crashing down, it will be the Kaiser.’

‘You may well be right about that. Tell me about Nell. Lucien misses his twin very much.’

‘Nell’s a dear girl. Quiet and unassuming and, like Lucien, she shows great interest in the natural world.’

‘Dora and Ursula, who usually manage the kitchen garden at Spindrift House, are holidaying in Germany for the summer,’ said Pascal. ‘Nell offered to take on the responsibility while they are away.’

‘I’m pleased my granddaughters are useful girls, not like some of the empty-headed creatures whose mothers keep inviting Jasper and Lucien to parties and balls.’

The carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed.

‘Good Lord!’ said Mr Hammond. ‘I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea and now it’s time to change for dinner.’

The following morning, Edith and Pascal took a cab to the Slade School of Fine Art in Bloomsbury. Edith’s father intended to accompany Lucien to the exhibition later in the day, after his younger grandson had finished his lectures at the Royal Veterinary School.

The courtyard outside the Slade was milling with students and visitors. Edith looked up at the classical façade of the building with its semi-circular columned portico. ‘It’s been more than twenty years,’ she said, ‘and yet it’s still so familiar to me. I was happy here. It pleases me a great deal that Jasper has followed in my footsteps.’ She smiled up at Pascal, her eyes soft with love. ‘Though it was always you he came to for artistic guidance.’

‘I have been hoping for this day ever since he was a petit garçon who came to show me his first drawings.’ Pascal took her arm and they went inside.

Already, the rooms were thronged with visitors and humming with their chatter. Edith paused in the doorway. ‘After living in the country for so long, it’s a little daunting. Thank heavens I bought a new hat.’ She touched the brim of her rose-pink straw.

‘As always, you bring grace and elegance with your presence,’ said Pascal, ‘whether you are wearing a chic hat or an ancient painting smock.’

‘Flatterer!’ she murmured.

‘Ah, there he is!’ said Pascal.

Jasper was weaving through the crowd towards them. He looked very grown up in a dark suit with a jaunty red carnation in the buttonhole and a matching silk handkerchief in his top pocket. The last-minute nerves he’d displayed that morning over breakfast appeared to have dissipated and he greeted them with a beaming smile.

Edith’s heart nearly burst with pride when he showed them his display. Over the years, he’d enjoyed painting seascapes under Pascal’s tutelage but now the scope of his work had broadened and she was particularly struck by her son’s portraits and life drawings.

‘There’s a new certainty and confidence in your work that will take you far,’ she said. ‘And I say that as a professional artist, not as a proud mother. Truly, Jasper, you have the potential to achieve great things.’

He flushed slightly. ‘I always strive to reach the standards you and Uncle Pascal set.’

Pascal, his eyes glistening, gripped Jasper’s wrist. ‘I am so proud of what you have achieved. This portrait is truly remarkable,’ he said. ‘You are a worthy rival to John Singer Sargent.’

‘I’d certainly like to be,’ said Jasper. ‘Come and tell me what you think of this one.’ He drew Pascal towards another painting. ‘It’s such an interesting mix of media …’

Edith hung back, to allow them time together, and wandered around the room studying the other displays. There was real talent displayed here and it was inspiring to see the youthful ebullience of some of the work. Not all of it was successful but there was a willingness to experiment that was inspiring. She was studying an extraordinary canvas, an explosion of brightly hued geometric shapes forming the background to a more traditional oil portrait, trying to work out if she liked it or loathed it, when she felt a touch on her arm.

She glanced up and her stomach turned over.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood beside her, a quizzical smile on his lips. ‘I thought it was you,’ he said, his gaze fixed on her face.

Her mouth was dust-dry. ‘I didn’t imagine you’d stir yourself to visit Jasper’s exhibition.’

Benedict shrugged. ‘He sent me an invitation and I had nothing better to do. I haven’t seen Jasper since he was a boy. Besides, it’s good to revisit the place where we were so happy together as students.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ she said.

‘You’re still as lovely as you were then.’ His voice was low and seductive.

But he was no longer the god-like figure Edith had thought him when she fell in love with him, half her lifetime ago. Time and excesses hadn’t treated Benedict Fairchild well. There were pouches of loose skin beneath his eyes and his waistcoat buttons strained over his stomach.

‘I could easily fall in love with you, all over again.’ He touched the back of his forefinger to her cheek.

Edith recoiled. ‘Don’t!’

‘You haven’t changed a bit and it’s been …’ he frowned ‘… how long?’

‘Seven years. Seven years since you left me to bring up Roland, the son you and your mistress abandoned.’ All the old grievances she held against her husband seethed inside her again.

‘It wasn’t like that!’ he protested. ‘I know our marriage encountered a few small difficulties but—’

‘Small difficulties?’ hissed Edith. ‘After deserting me and the children, you returned to Spindrift years later in the blithe assumption I’d welcome you back to my bed. And when I didn’t, you installed your latest mistress in my household.’

Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I thought you were having an affair with the Frenchman. Once he’d returned to France and Tamsyn had gone, I offered you and Roland a wonderful new future in Berkeley Square.’

‘Wonderful for whom?’ Edith challenged in a furious undertone. ‘The price I’d have paid for that wonderful future would have been to give up my cherished career as an artist, in order to live with a husband I knew could only bring me further unhappiness. While I sat at home bringing up your mistress’s son and being an unpaid companion to your elderly mother, you would have humiliated me by tomcatting around with every woman in town. How could you possibly have imagined I’d welcome that suggestion?’

‘Harsh words don’t become you, Edith!’

Her new hat felt as tight as an iron band around her head. She massaged her temples. ‘I won’t quarrel with you,’ she said. ‘I refuse to allow you to ruin the day when we’re celebrating Jasper’s success. Why don’t you go and say a few words to him?’

‘Where is he?’

She pointed to Jasper’s display.

Benedict frowned. ‘Surely that isn’t Pascal with him? I thought he was in France, confined to a wheelchair after his accident?’

‘He’s still lame but, thankfully, able to walk again.’

‘And he’s back at Spindrift?’

Edith nodded.

Catching hold of her wrist, Benedict said, ‘Are you still having an affair with him?’

‘What affair? You never had any proof of that,’ said Edith. She shook herself free of his grasp, her pulse racing.

Benedict stared at Jasper and Pascal’s backs as they viewed a canvas together. Jasper had reached the same height as Pascal and they both had very dark hair, though Pascal’s was flecked with silver now.

And then Pascal said something to Jasper and, laughing, they turned to face each other. They tipped their heads back in mirth, their aquiline profiles a perfect mirror image.

‘My God,’ whispered Benedict, ‘how could I have been so stupid? There’s my proof of your adultery! Jasper’s the Frenchman’s son, isn’t he?’

Edith swallowed. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Benedict laughed harshly. ‘You treacherous bitch!’ He turned on his heel and shouldered his way through the gathering towards the two men.

Dizziness swept over Edith and she steadied herself against a wall. The fear that had haunted her for so long must now be faced. But not here, not now! She must stop her husband from ruining Jasper’s special day.

She was too late.

Benedict grasped the lapels of Pascal’s jacket and shook him.

Pascal dropped his silver-topped walking cane and it clattered to the ground.

‘All this time,’ shouted Benedict, shoving his face close to Pascal’s, ‘you and Edith have been laughing at me behind my back!’

The buzz of conversation ceased and a sea of faces turned to study the disturbance.

Edith pushed through the crowd, desperate to reach Jasper.

‘Now I understand why that cuckoo in the nest has always been such a disappointment to me,’ yelled Benedict. ‘I should have realised Jasper wasn’t my son … that it was your poxy French blood that ran through his veins!’

Jasper’s mouth fell open. Transfixed, he stared at them both.

Edith let out a mew of distress and renewed her efforts to reach him. Benedict thumped Pascal’s head against the wall. ‘Stop it!’ she cried.

Dragging Benedict’s hands off his collar, Pascal glanced at Jasper’s stunned expression. ‘We shall discuss this outside,’ he said.

‘Not bloody likely! I’m going to give you the public thrashing you deserve!’ Benedict made a fist and pulled back his elbow.

A woman screamed.

Pascal deflected Benedict’s blow with his forearm and forced his fist into the air. Faces contorted and muscles trembling with effort, they struggled with each other. Benedict was by far the bigger man but Pascal had a wiry strength.

Edith thrust herself through the circle of onlookers and grabbed Benedict’s sleeve.

He jabbed his elbow backwards into her chest, winding her, then aimed a kick at Pascal’s knees. Pascal gasped. Seizing the advantage, Benedict continued to kick viciously at his legs until he sank to the ground.

Jasper shook his head as if waking from a nightmare and threw himself at Benedict. He received a blow to his cheek that sent him sprawling to the floor.

Pascal attempted to protect himself from Benedict’s feet, lying curled up with his arms about his head.

Someone yelled, ‘For shame! Don’t kick a man when he’s down!’ Two students pulled Benedict away but he shook them off, his breathing laboured and a triumphant smile on his lips.

Edith fell to her knees beside Pascal.

Jasper, jaw clenched and blood trickling from his grazed cheekbone, stood before Benedict. ‘You utter piece of shit!’ he said. And then punched him, hard, on the nose.

Benedict staggered backwards, an expression of astonishment on his face.

Someone cheered.

Benedict touched a hand to his nose and stared disbelievingly at his bloodied fingers. ‘You’ll pay for that, you little bastard! And as for you …’ he turned towards Edith and Pascal, huddled together on the floor ‘… at last you’ve given me grounds to evict you from Spindrift House. And, believe me, I will!’ He turned to the bystanders. ‘You all heard them admit to their adultery, didn’t you?’

A man with a leonine head of grey hair stepped forward. Stony-faced, he said, ‘What I saw, what we all saw, was a savage and unprovoked attack on a physically impaired man.’ His voice was calm and authoritative. ‘If evidence of such an assault were brought to my attention in my position as magistrate, I’d have no hesitation in sentencing you to face the full force of the law.’

‘Take him down!’ yelled one of the students.

There was a scuffle and then four men frog-marched Benedict from the room. His yells of protest were heard fading away down the corridor.

Jasper lifted Pascal up, tenderly supporting him. They remained locked together for so long, Edith wondered if they’d ever let each other go.

At last, Jasper drew back. His eyes were bright and his smile a little crooked. ‘All my childhood,’ he said to Pascal, ‘I wished you were my father. And today, that dream has come true. I would rather, a thousand-fold, be your illegitimate son than Benedict’s legitimate one.’

One of Jasper’s friends helped him to conduct Pascal to the front of the building, while another ran ahead to hail a taxicab.

Outside, Edith tensed when she saw Benedict leaning against a lamp post, watching her with a baleful stare.

‘You’ve made a fool of me,’ he said.

A shiver ran down her back at the threatening tone of his voice, but she knew she’d be lost if she allowed him to intimidate her. ‘Oh, no, Benedict,’ she said, ‘you did that all on your own. There was no need to draw attention to yourself by shouting from the rooftops that you’d been cuckolded.’

His cheeks flushed a deep, angry red. ‘I’m going to make sure everyone knows what an adulterous vixen you are.’

‘Thereby making even more people laugh at you.’

‘A woman who betrays her husband is unfit to be a mother. I’ll ensure you’re denied access to my children. My legitimate children, that is. You can do what the hell you like with the frog spawn.’

She hoped he didn’t hear the jagged edge of fear in the laugh she forced out. ‘The only child now in my care is your mistress’s son, the one you foisted upon me. And while we’re pointing the finger at each other’s acts of adultery, I wonder what your mother will think when I tell her you have not one illegitimate child but two, by different mothers?’

His nostrils flared and he became very still. ‘I can do no wrong in Mother’s eyes.’

‘Since you’ve been living in her house for the past seven years, I’ll wager she’ll have had enough of her wastrel son’s ways by now. Your expectations of inheriting her house in Berkeley Square are dependent upon her good opinion of you, I believe?’

Benedict hesitated just long enough for Edith to know she’d touched a nerve. He took a step closer, close enough for her to see a vein throbbing in his temple. ‘I’ve already entered into negotiations to sell my share of Spindrift House and the purchaser will see you off, soon enough.’

His jubilant smile made her feel sick. Was this the truth or only another of his lies?

‘And if you ever come anywhere near my mother,’ he said, ‘I’ll make sure you never exhibit your work at the Royal Academy again.’ He grasped her shoulder in a vice-like grip.

She wiped a fleck of his spittle from her cheek. ‘Then I shall be obliged to discredit you by informing the Royal Academy that the canvas you exhibited there to such acclaim a few years ago was not your work, but mine.’ His fingers dug painfully into her shoulder but she suppressed a cry of pain. ‘I have all my preparatory sketches. And then there are the other paintings you took from me over a period of several years and signed with your name before you sold them. My friends will attest these are my work too.’

Jasper ran towards them and knocked Benedict’s hand away from Edith’s shoulder. ‘Do you stoop so low as to bully a lady?’ he said. ‘Are you not content with beating a man who is lame?’

Benedict squared up to him, cracking his knuckles. ‘Get out of my sight, you little bastard!’

Jasper sneered, ‘Willingly. I hope never to see you again. And you may expect a constable to knock on your door and arrest you for assault.’

‘Jasper!’ said Edith. She caught hold of his arm. ‘Come away now.’

He resisted for a moment but then allowed her to lead him towards the waiting taxi.

Later that afternoon, back at her father’s house, Edith held a murmured conversation with the doctor who had been summoned.

‘Mr Joubert should suffer no lasting damage,’ he said, ‘though the bruising is extensive and will cause him considerable discomfort over the next week or so.’ He hesitated. ‘The patient didn’t care to discuss how he received his injuries but, should you require me to bear witness to the extent of them for any proceedings, please call upon me.’

After her father’s butler had closed the front door behind the doctor, Edith paused outside the morning room. Her hands still trembled. It wasn’t only Pascal’s injuries that distressed her but also the hideous embarrassment caused to Jasper on his special day. She cringed at the recollection of the disdain in the onlookers’ eyes. Several women had turned their backs on her, exactly as if she bore a scarlet A for adulteress branded on her forehead. She’d always known that, one day, she’d have to tell Jasper the truth and reveal she wasn’t the paragon of virtue he imagined her to be, but she hadn’t been prepared to be exposed so soon.

Straightening her back, she went into the morning room.

Jasper stood up. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘you’d better tell me everything, Mama, don’t you?’

Pascal, reclining on a day bed, attempted to ease himself into a sitting position.

Edith hurried to help him, fussing over plumping up the cushions and rearranging the rug over his knees to delay the moment when she had to explain herself.

‘Edith?’ said Pascal. He rested his hand gently on her wrist. His naturally olive-skinned complexion was ashen and his eyes hazed with pain.

‘Yes,’ she said. She hardly knew how to form the words for what had to be said. Jasper’s gaze was fixed on her and she forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I apologise unreservedly for what happened today. Your wonderful exhibition …’ Her throat closed up while she made every effort not to weep.

‘It wasn’t all bad,’ said Jasper. He gave a snort of laughter. ‘After all, no one will ever forget Jasper Fairchild’s graduation exhibition, will they?’

‘You shouldn’t have discovered the truth like that,’ said his mother. ‘I intended to tell you when you returned home this summer.’ She stared at her fingers, knotting them together in her lap. ‘Benedict and I were on our honeymoon in Provence when I discovered him in the act of being unfaithful to me. The woman in question later bore him a daughter.’

Jasper’s mouth twisted in revulsion. Absent-mindedly, he picked. . .