September

commercial scale. Or go in for fish-farming. There were opportunities and possibilities all about him. All he had to do was make up his mind and go for it.

Go for it. The words had a heartening ring to them. He knew again some of his old, youthful confidence. Knew that the worst was over, and nothing could ever be quite so bad again.

He went on, down the stairs, into the dining-room. He and Pandora had laid the table together, just the way it had always been arranged for important occasions, when Harris was in charge, and pleased to instruct the youthful Blairs on correct and time-honoured procedure. It had taken them most of the afternoon, with Archie polishing up the bubble-thin wineglasses, and Pandora folding the starched white napkins into mitres, each tipped with the embroidered coronet and the letter B.

Now he observed, with a critical eye, their work. The effect was splendid. The four heavy silver candlesticks marched down the centre of the table, and firelight shone and sparkled from gleaming silver and glass, for here, as well, the logs flamed, and Jeff Howland had been given the job of filling all the wood-baskets. The scent of dry and crackling pine was warm and spicy. Archie walked the length of the room, checking on the placement, straightening a fork, altering, very slightly, the position of a salt-cellar. Satisfied, he went on into the kitchen.

Here he found Agnes Cooper, up from the village for the evening. Agnes normally came to work in her track suit and a pair of trainers, but this evening she wore beneath her pinafore her best turquoise Crimplene dress, and she had had her hair done.

She was at the sink, dealing with the odd saucepan or two, but turned at his footstep.

'Agnes. Everything all right?'

'All under control. I've just got to keep my eye on the casserole, and put the wee bits of smoked trout onto the plates when Lady Balmerino says.'

'It's good of you to come and help us.'

'That's what I'm here for.' She eyed him in some admiration. 'I hope you don't mind my saying, but you're looking fantaastic.'

'Oh, thank you, Agnes.' He found himself a little embarrassed, and to cover his confusion, offered her a drink. 'A glass of sherry. How would that be?'

Agnes was also a little taken abacki 'Oh. Well. That would be very nice.'

She reached for a towel and dried her hands. Archie found a glass, and the bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream. He poured her a generous tot. 'Here you are…'

'Thanks a lot, Lord Balmerino…' She raised the glass in a convivial fashion, saying, 'Here's to having a good time,' and then took a ladylike sip, folding her lips appreciatively around the rich taste. 'Sherry's lovely,' she said. 'Like I say, it always gives you a beautiful glow.'

He left her and went back, through the dining-room, across the hall, and into the drawing-room. Another fire, more flowers, soft lights, but no guests. His house party, it seemed, were taking their time. The drinks tray had been set out, and placed on top of the grand piano. He considered the situation. They would be on champagne for the remainder of the evening, but he needed a Scotch. He poured himself a drink, and then poured a second one, and, carrying the two glasses with a certain amount of care, painfully made his way upstairs again.

On the landing he came upon his daughter, who, for some reason, was wandering around in her underclothes.

'Lucilla!' he reproached her.

But she was more concerned over his appearance than her own.

'Goodness, Dad, you look gorgeous. Really romantic and distinguished. The Lord Balmerino in full fig. Are those new trousers? They're heaven. 1 wouldn't mind a pair of those. And Grandpa's old smoking jacket. Quite perfect.' She put her naked arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his newly shaved cheek. 'And you smell delicious as well. All sleek and barbered and yummy. Who are the drinks for?'

'I thought I'd better make sure that Pandora's awake. Why haven't you got any clothes on?'

'Just on my way to borrow a petticoat from Mum. My new dress is a bit flimsy.'

'You'd better get a move on, It's twenty-five past eight.'

'I'm ready now.' She went to throw open the door of her parents' bedroom. 'Mum! I'm going to have to wear a petticoat…'

Archie crossed the landing to the door of the guest-room. From within came faint strains of music, which meant that Pandora had turned on her radio, but did not necessarily mean that she was awake. He juggled the two glasses into one hand, gave a cursory thump on the panel, and opened the door.

'Pandora?'

She was not in bed, but she was on it, lying draped in a silk-and-lace wrapper. Clothes were scattered about all over the place, and the room was heavy with the smell of that strange scent that had become so much part of her presence.

'Pandora.'

She opened her beautiful grey eyes. She had put on her makeup, and her thick lashes were heavy with mascara. She saw him and smiled. She said, 'I'm not asleep.'

'I've brought you a drink.'

He went to sit on the edge of the bed, to set the glass down on her table, alongside the little lamp. Her radio crooned softly away to itself, a programme of dance music that sounded as though it came from a long way back.

She said, 'How kind.'

'It's almost time to come downstairs.' Her shining hair spilled over the pillow, almost as though it had a life of its own, but lying there she looked so thin, so insubstantial, so weightless that, all at once, he felt concern. 'Are you tired?'

'No. Just lazy. Where is everybody?'

'Isobel's dealing with her face, and Lucilla's wandering about in her knickers wanting to borrow a petticoat from her mother. So far, there's no sign of either of the men.'

'It's always a good moment, isn't it? Just before a party. Time to have a toes-up and listen to nostalgic tunes. Do you remember this one? It's so pretty. Rather sad. I can't remember the words.'

'Together they listened. The tenor saxophone carried the melody. Archie frowned, trying to capture the elusive lyric. The music carried him back twenty years, to Berlin and some regimental ball. Berlin was the clue.

'Something about a long long time from May to December.'

'Yes, of course. Kurt Weill. 'But the days grow short when you reach September.' And then autumn leaves, and the days running out, and there not being time for the waiting game. So dreadfully poignant.'

She sat up, bunching her pillows behind her. She reached for her drink, and he saw her narrow wrist, and her red-tipped hand, so fine and pale and blue-veined that it seemed to Archie almost transparent. ¹

He said, 'Are you nearly ready?'

'Nearly. I've only got to slip my dress on and zip up the zip.' She took a mouthful of whisky. 'Oh, delicious. This will get me going.' Over the rim of the glass her eyes appeared enormous. 'You look amazing, Archie. Just as dashing as you ever did.'

'Agnes Cooper said I looked fantaastic.'

'What a compliment. Darling, I wasn't asleep. I was just having a little quiet think about yesterday. It was all so perfect. Just like it used to be. The two of us. Sitting in the butt, and having time to chat. Or not chat, as the case might be. Perhaps I talked too much, but twenty years is a long time to tell. Was it dreadfully boring?'

'No. You made me laugh. You always made me laugh.'

'And the sun and the biue sky and the heather linties cheeping away, and the guns going crack, and the poor little grouse tumbling out of the sky. And all those clever doggies. Weren't we lucky to have such a day? Like being given the most gorgeous present.'

He said, 'I know.'

'It's nice to think those sort of days come back again. That they haven't gone forever.'

'We must reform. Kick this invidious family habit of dwelling in the past.'

'It was such a good past, it's difficult not to. Besides, what else is there to think about?'

'Now. Yesterday is dead and tomorrow not yet born. We only have today.'

'Yes.'