slender shoulders and she glanced frequently and lovingly at her groom. Certainly, Richard was smiling and revealing, I noticed, well-tended teeth. I had no clue what he was thinking.

Minty was at the back of the room, hugging the outer circles of guests, her dark eyes fixed hungrily on the tableau by the wedding-cake.

Who needs a family?

I tried, I tried so hard, but every so often my gaze returned to her and, while Nathan was giving the speech for our daughter, Minty stole my attention and that was, almost, the greatest sin I laid at her door.

But Minty was also watching me. Not Nathan, not Poppy or Richard, but me. Should she not have been considering her lover’s pride in his daughter, his tenderness, his public face? His words? Should she not be shuddering inwardly for having overstepped the mark? At the punishing words we had exchanged?

Should I not be concentrating on the quick rise and fall of Poppy’s breath? On the way Richard was holding her hand? Should I not be utterly focused on my daughter’s future?

Minty and I had arrived at a point where we were objects of fascination to each other. We had infiltrated each other’s bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and we were the shadows that been cast, deep and inky, over each other’s life.

Nathan made a joke, and the audience laughed. Poppy turned her head, and her earrings sparkled in the soft, radiant light. Richard looked down at her and sent her a private smile. Here we go, it said.

Nathan made another joke, and laughter rippled through the audience. The guests shifted. Vee slid her arm round my waist. ‘Rose, please don’t look so sad.’

I was conscious of a vast disappointment. Surely after all the suffering, mine and Nathan’s, the misunderstandings, the painful decisions, it should add up to something greater than a mundane preoccupation with the other woman.

I closed my eyes. However bloody, however hard, I knew I must pull the darkness and anger out of myself, and toss them away.

Yet as Minty and I covertly watched each other, I experienced a steady creep of pity. We all used others, hurt them badly, betrayed them. More often than not, the struggle to treat the world and others with care just did not succeed. I had been guilty of dark preoccupations, and I had almost forgotten that there was warmth. Passion, too, for life, food, sun, knowledge and other landscapes through which to travel.

My thumbnail bit into my finger. At twenty I could not have stood here and reflected in such a manner, nor at thirty. I would not have possessed the words. But today? In the presence of my children, it seemed the only thing left was to be generous with love and pity. To struggle to be generous.

Exhausted, I turned my attention to Nathan. He was funny and brief, and avoided the obvious pitfall of mentioning our marriage. Conjuring the best of himself for his daughter, the gestures, the timed pauses, the smiles were perfect. They were meant for Poppy, there was no doubt about that, and I melted at the tributes he paid her.

‘Such a good speaker,’ murmured a guest. ‘So sweet about the couple.’

Nathan wound up. ‘“There is no more lovely, friendly, charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage.” Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know who said that but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the sentiment. Let us raise our glasses…’

There was applause and, tearstained and electric, Poppy whirled towards her father. Looking a lot less fresh, less crisp, than when they arrived, the guests shifted, re-formed and continued to drink enormous quantities of champagne until it was time to leave, when they were effusive with their praise.

‘Such a happy party,’ said one and, impulsively, I leant forward and kissed her. She smelt of champagne.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think it was.’

Poppy and Richard were still at the centre of a joshing group. They were due to leave for a hotel for the night, then a two-day break in Bath, and a car was waiting. Richard was talking emphatically, but Poppy had gone quiet, and her mouth was white and set. She looked round for me. ‘Mum? Where are you? Mum?

As I made my way over to her, she pulled free the rose that was pinned to her dress and sent it soaring in an arc towards me.

*

The catering staff were clearing up. Plates were stacked and glasses shot back into the honeycomb of the cardboard boxes. The waiters exchanged information on jobs and tips. The fairy-lights winked down at bare tables, stacked chairs and filled ashtrays. The place echoed with goodbyes.

‘Such a pretty bride…’

‘Such a nice speech…’

I smiled. Early on, when it was clear that Nathan’s ambitions were going to be realized, he had practised a lot on me. We saved up, and Nathan took lessons in public speaking, the deal being that he passed on to me what he had been taught. I got used to statesmanlike policy declarations, the beer-and-sandwich bluff and, in the days of intense union uncertainty, the Henry V rallying cry to the troops. Today it had worked beautifully.

Except for an obstinate cluster by the door, everyone had gone and it was safe to take off my shoes. Just for a second. The beginnings of a headache pounded above my left eye and I rubbed it. A touch on my shoulder made me turn round.

‘Had we finished our conversation?’ Minty was clutching a handbag in the shape of a flowerpot.

I opened my mouth to say something but a voice cut in: ‘Rose darling,’ said my cousin Henry, ‘thank you so much. You are, as always, a celestial hostess and you look stunning.’ He bent over to kiss me. And damn Nathan.’

‘This is Minty,’ I informed Henry, ‘whom Nathan hopes to marry’

Minty paled. Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘Goodness,’ he said, and turned his back on Minty. ‘But, as they say, goodness has nothing to do with it. Goodbye, Rose.’

Minty hitched her dress down. ‘Brilliant. The first Mrs de Winter to the life. Admit it, Rose, of all the roles, it’s a good one.’

‘You forget I’m not dead.’

Her mouth set in a bitter line and she scratched her arm viciously. The nails impressed white streaks into the flesh, the flesh Nathan preferred. ‘I don’t know what you thought you were doing by gatecrashing, but Nathan wasn’t pleased and you’ve made your point. I’m not angry any more, but it’s better that you go.’

She looked thoughtfully at my naked feet. ‘Are they hurting?’

‘As it happens, yes.’

She smiled and the old sympathy crackled. ‘So are mine.’ Her smile vanished. ‘I… shouldn’t have come,’ she admitted. ‘Nathan will be livid.’

‘Bad luck.’ Both of us contemplated the prospect of Nathan in a rage. ‘Wasn’t it a risk, Minty, coming here?’

‘I was curious,’ she said simply. ‘I didn’t know why I should be made to skulk at home, and I wanted to see this side of Nathan. The side you have, Rose, and I don’t.’

‘You don’t like families.’

‘Well, as you would say, a girl must make a virtue of necessity. Mine all sugared off at the slightest excuse.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’ And I was. ‘But not sorry enough to say, “Help yourself. Don’t mind me. Make off with my husband.” Certainly not sorry enough to want you at Poppy’s party.’

The dark eyes regarded me steadily. ‘I suppose not. But, in the end, does it matter very much? A lot of people made it their business to ignore me. Quite a few of the men pawed at me because I’m that sort of girl and, please don’t forget, I have the dubious distinction of now knowing more than anyone in the room about the workings of the wind turbine.’

I gave an unwilling snort of laughter. ‘Serves you right.’

At that moment, Ianthe rode in. Crocodile handbag with its large gold clasp, bought at a jumble sale, hooked over her arm, she positioned herself beside me. Because she had cried, there was a narrow black runnel of mascara

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