their business discussion and that ruled out too much alcohol. The huge meal eventually told on his host and he fell asleep in the middle of a long diatribe for all of ten minutes, waking up with a start to complete the very sentence he had abandoned and clearly unaware that there had been any hiatus. Sir Julius knew exactly what he wanted in the way of a town house. His specifications were admirably clear and Christopher was duly grateful. Previous clients had not always been so decisive. Sir Julius brought a military precision to it all, tackling the project with the controlled eagerness of a commander issuing orders to his army on the eve of battle. When the long oak table in the dining room had been cleared he stood over the young architect while the latter made some preliminary sketches.
It had been a long but productive day. Susan joined them again for a light supper and Christopher gained more insight into her relationship with her father. She chided him softly for keeping his guest up too late yet showed real concern when he complained about pain from an old war wound in his leg. As the night had worn on, Sir Julius came to look more tired, more lonely and, for the first time, more vulnerable. He turned to maudlin reminiscences of his deceased wife. Susan interrupted him, soothing and censuring him at the same time, bathing him in sympathy while insisting that it was unwise for him to stay up so late. It was almost as if she had taken on the role of her mother. Christopher was touched by the unquestioning affection she displayed towards Sir Julius and impressed by the way she handled him. His only regret was that the closeness between father and daughter obviated any chance of time alone with Susan. Retiring to his bed an ancient four-poster with a lumpy mattress, he slept fitfully.
After breakfast next morning, on the point of departure, he finally had a brief conversation alone with her. Sir Julius went off to berate a tardy servant and the two of them were left at the table. Christopher had rehearsed a dozen things to say to her in private but it was Susan Cheever who spoke first.
'I must apologise for my father, Mr Redmayne,' she said with a wan smile. 'His manner is a trifle abrupt at times.'
'Not at all, Miss Cheever.'
'When you get to know him, you'll see that he has a gentler side to him as well.'
'I see it embodied in you,' said Christopher with an admiring smile. 'Apologies are unnecessary. I find Sir Julius a most amenable client. It will be a pleasure to work for him.' He fished gently for information. 'Your father mentioned a second daughter with a house in Richmond.'
'Yes, Mr Redmayne,' she said. 'My sister, Brilliana.'
'I understand that he'll be staying there in due course.'
'Until the new house is built.'
'That will be done with all haste.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
'Will you be travelling to London with your father, Miss Cheever?' he asked raising a hopeful eyebrow.
'Occasionally,' she replied. 'Why do you ask?'
'Because Sir Julius is a different man with you beside him.'
'In what way?'
Christopher was tactful. 'He seems to mellow.'
'It's largely exhaustion.'
'I marvel at the way you look after him so well.'
'Someone has to, Mr Redmayne,' she sighed. 'Since my mother died he's been very restless. It's one of the reasons he wishes to take up a political career. It will keep him occupied. Father pretends to hate London yet he wants be at the centre of events.'
'What about you, Miss Cheever?' he said, keen to learn more about her.
'Me, sir?'
'Do you relish the idea of being at the centre of events?'
'Oh, no,' she said solemnly. 'I have no love for big cities. To be honest, they rather frighten me. I was born and brought up in this beautiful countryside. Why surrender that for the noise and filth of London?'
'London has its own attractions.'
'I know. My sister Brilliana never ceases to talk about them in her letters. She and her husband frequently take the coach into the city. Brilliana seems to keep at least three dressmakers in business.'
'Is her husband engaged in politics?'
'Lancelot?' She gave a little laugh. 'Heavens, no! Lancelot is no politician. He's far too nice a man to entertain the notion of entering Parliament. My brother-in-law is a gentleman of leisure. Running his estate and pampering Brilliana take up all his time.'
'Talking of estates,' said Christopher, glancing towards the window, 'you must have a sizeable one here in Northamptonshire.'
'Almost a thousand acres.'
'Sir Julius is obviously a highly successful farmer.'
'He inherited the land from my grandfather and extended it over the years.'
'It's a pity that he has nobody else to carry on the good work. Farming runs in families. Sons take over from fathers. But since you have no brother the Cheever name may have to make way for someone else.' Susan turned away in mild embarrassment. Christopher was immediately contrite. 'Have I said something to offend you?' he asked. 'I do apologise. It was not intentional, I promise you. In any case, Miss Cheever, it's none of my business. Please forgive me. I'd not upset you for the world.'
She met his gaze. 'There's nothing to forgive.'
'I made a crass remark and I'm truly sorry.'
'How were you to know, Mr Redmayne?' she said, getting to her feet. 'You touched unwittingly on a delicate subject. I do have a brother, as it happens, but Gabriel is not interested in taking on the estate. He has…' She searched for the appropriate words. 'He has other priorities, I fear.'
'Your father made no mention of a son.'
'Nor will he,' she warned. 'And I beg you to make no reference to Gabriel. It would cause Father the deepest pain. To all intents and purposes, he has no son.'
'Yet I suspect that you still have a brother?' he said quietly.
Susan Cheever coloured slightly and bit her lip. She took a deep breath. 'I think that it's time for you to go, Mr Redmayne.'
Sarah Bale was a woman of bustling energy. Rising shortly after dawn, she cleaned the downstairs rooms, roused her children from their beds, gave them breakfast, took them off to their petty school and since the weather was fine, returned to make a start on the washing that she took in to supplement the family income. By the time her husband came into the kitchen, she was humming contentedly to herself, her arms deep in a tub of soapy water. Suppressing a yawn, Jonathan crossed to give her a perfunctory kiss of greeting on the forehead.
'Awake at last, are you?' she teased.
'I was late getting back last night, my love.'
'I know.'
'Did I wake you?'
'Only for a moment.'
'I tried not to, Sarah.'
'You're not the quietest man when you move around the house,' she said, drying her hands on a piece of cloth so that she could turn to him. 'Your breakfast is all ready, Jonathan. Sit down. You look as if you need it.'
Lowering himself on to a chair, he gave a nod of agreement. The events of the night had turned a routine patrol into a harrowing experience and left him drained. When he climbed into bed, he had fallen instantly asleep. Now, after barely three or four hours, he was up to face a new day. Bread and cheese lay on the platter before him. Sarah put a solicitous hand on his shoulder as she poured him a cup of whey.
'Did you hear the children?'
'No, my love.'
'Then you must have been very tired. They made so much noise this morning, especially Oliver. I had to be very stern with him.'
'What was the problem?'
'The usual one,' she said, putting the jug on the table and sitting opposite him. 'He didn't want to go to
