September

'Working. Going out to dinner. I've had a social week.'

She glanced at him wryly. 'I'll bet,' she said without rancour.

He drove into Edinburgh by the old Glasgow road, and as they approached, the Old City looked its most impressive, etched like a romantic engraving beneath the immense and steely sky. The wide streets were verdant with leafy trees, the skyline pierced by spires and towers, and the Castle on its rock brooded over all, with flag snapping at the mast-head. Coming to the New Town, they entered the gracefully proportioned purlieus of Georgian terraces and spacious crescents. All had been newly sandstoned, and the buildings, with their classic windows and porticoes and airy fanlights, stood honey-coloured in the evening light.

Circling the one-way system, Edmund made his way through a labyrinth of hidden lanes and turned at last into a narrow cobbled street to draw up at the pavement's edge outside the little Italian restaurant. On the opposite side of this street stood one of Edinburgh's many beautiful churches. High up on the tower, above the massive arched doorway, the hands of a golden clock moved to nine o'clock, and as they got out of the car, its chimes pealed out across the rooftops, striking the hours. Flocks of pigeons, disturbed from their airy roosts, exploded upwards in a flurry of flight. When the last chime had struck, they settled again, on sill and parapet, cooing to themselves, folding their wings, pretending nothing had happened, as though ashamed of their silly agitation.

'You'd think,' said Virginia, 'that they'd get used to the din. Become blase.'

'I never met a blase pigeon. Did you?'

'Come to think of it, no.'

He took her arm and led her across the pavement and through the door. Inside the restaurant was small, dimly lighted, smelling of fresh coffee and garlic and delicious Mediterranean food. The place was pleasantly busy and most of the tables were occupied, but the head waiter spied them at once and made his way across the floor to welcome them.

'Good evening, Mr. Aird. And Madame.'

'Good evening, Luigi.'

'I have your table ready.'

The table Edmund had particularly asked for, in the corner, tucked under the window. A starched pink damask cloth, pink damask napkins, a single rose in a slender vase. Charming, intimate, seductive. The ultimate ambience for the ending of a feud.

'Perfect, Luigi. Thank you. And the Moet et Chandon?'

'No problem, Mr. Aird. I have it on ice.'

They drank the chilled champagne. Virginia filled in the details of her social activities, the art exhibitions she had been to, the concert at the Wigmore Hall.

They ordered in a leisurely fashion. Eschewed the ravioli and tagliatelli, and went instead for duck pate, and cold Tay salmon.

'Why do I bring you to Italian restaurants, when you can eat Tay salmon at home?'

'Because there is nothing in the world so delicious, and after my whirl in London I seem to have had my fill of ethnic food.'

'I shall not ask with whom you have been dining.'

She smiled. 'Nor I you.'

Without haste, they ate their way through the perfect meal, ending with fresh raspberries coated in thick cream, and a Brie of exactly the right consistency. She told him of the exhibition at Burlington House, Felicity Crowe's plans to buy a country cottage in Dorset, and tried to explain, with a certain amount of confusing detail, the plot of Phantom of the Opera. Edmund, who knew the plot anyway, listened with absorbed interest, simply because it was so marvellous to have her back, to listen to her voice, to have her sharing her pleasures with him.

Finally, their plates were cleared, and coffee brought, black and fragrant, steaming in the tiny cups. As well as a dish of chocolate peppermints thin as wafers.

By now most of the other tables had emptied, the diners gone home. Only one other couple sat, as they sat, but drinking brandy. The man smoked a cigar.

The Moet et Chandon was finished, up-ended in the ice-bucket. 'Would you like a brandy?' Edmund asked.

'No. Not a thing more.'

'I'd have one, but I have to drive.'

'I could drive.'

He shook his head. 'I don't need a brandy.' He leaned back in his chair. 'You've told me everything, but you still haven't told me about Alexa.'

'I was keeping it to the end.'

'Does that mean it's good?'

'1 think it's good. I'm not sure what you'll think.'

'Try me.'

'You won't become Victorian, will you?'

'I don't think I ever am.'

'Because Alexa's got a man. He's moved in with her. He's living with her in the house in Ovington Street.'

Edmund did not at once reply to this. Then he said, quite calmly, 'When did this happen?'

'In June, 1 think. She didn't tell us because she was afraid we would all be upset or disapproving.'

'Does she think we wouldn't like him?'

'No. I think she thinks you'd like him very much. It's just that she wasn't sure how you'd take it. So she gave me the job of telling you.'

'Have you met him?'

'Yes. Just for a little while. We had a drink together. There wasn't time for more.'

'Did you like him?'

'Yes, I did. He's very good-looking, very charming. He's called Noel Keeling.'

Edmund's coffee-cup was empty. He caught Luigi's eye and asked for it to be refilled. When this was done, he stirred it thoughtfully, his eyes downcast, his handsome features giving nothing away.

'What do you think?' Virginia asked.

He looked up at her and smiled. 'I think I'm thinking that I thought it would never happen.'

'But you're pleased that it has?'

I m pleased that Alexa has found someone who is sufficiently fond of her to want to spend much time with her. It would be easier for everybody if it could have taken a less dramatic course, but I suppose nowadays it's inevitable that they should shack up together and give it a try before making any momentous decision.' He took a mouthful of the scalding coffee, set down the cup. 'It's just that she's such an extraordinarily unsophisticated child.'

'She isn't a child any more, Edmund.'

'It's hard to think of Alexa as anything else.'

'We have to.'

'I realize that.'

'She was in rather a state about my telling you all. She asked me to tell you, but I know, in a funny way, she was dreading the secret coming out.'

'What do you think I should do?'

'You don't have to do anything. She's going to bring him up to Balnaid in September for the weekend of the Steyntons' dance. And we'll all behave as casually as all-get-out… just as though he were an old childhood chum or a school friend. I don't think we can do more. After that, it's up to them.'

'Was that your idea or Alexa's?'

'Mine,' Virginia told him, not without pride.

'What a clever girl you are.'

'I told her other things as well, Edmund. I told her that, over the last few weeks, we haven't exactly been the best of friends.'

'That must be the understatement of the year.'

She fixed him with her brilliant gaze. She said, 'I haven't changed my mind. I haven't changed my attitude. I don't want Henry to go and I think he's too young, and I think you're making a dreadful mistake; but I know that