She didn’t recognise him at first. She had only known him briefly, after all; one winter, almost a decade before. And he had changed. He had been a boy when she knew him at Riverton. With smooth, clear skin, wide brown eyes and a gentle manner. And he had been still, she remembered. It was one of the things that had infuriated her. His self-possession. The way he came into their lives with no warning, goaded her into saying things she oughtn’t, and proceeded, with such ease, to woo their brother from them.
The man who stood before her in the morning room was tall, dressed in a black suit and a white shirt. It was ordinary enough clothing, but he wore it differently to Teddy and the other businessmen Hannah knew. His face was striking but lean: hollows below his cheekbones, and shadows beneath his dark eyes. She could see the lack of respectability to which Boyle referred, and yet she was at just as much of a loss to articulate it.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
He looked at her, seemed to look right inside her. She’d had men stare before, but something in the focus of his gaze caused her to blush. And when she did, he smiled. ‘You haven’t changed.’
It was then she knew him. Recognised his voice. ‘Mr Hunter,’ she said incredulously. She looked him over again, this new knowledge colouring her observation. The same dark hair, the same dark eyes. Same sensuous mouth, always slightly amused. She wondered how she’d missed them before. She straightened, stilled herself. ‘How nice of you to come.’ The moment the words were out, she regretted their ordinariness and longed to pull them back.
He smiled; rather ironically it seemed to Hannah.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ She indicated Teddy’s armchair and Robbie sat perfunctorily, like a schoolboy obeying a mundane instruction unworthy of defiance. Once again she had an irksome sense of her own triviality.
He was still looking at her.
She checked her hair lightly with the palms of both hands, made sure the pins were all in place, smoothed the pale ends against her neck. She smiled politely. ‘Is there something amiss, Mr Hunter? Something I need to fix?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve carried an image in my mind, all this time… You’re still the same.’
‘Not the same, Mr Hunter, I assure you,’ she said, as lightly as she could. ‘I was fifteen when last we met.’
‘Were you really so young?’
There was that lack of respectability again. Oh, it wasn’t so much what he said-it was a perfectly ordinary question, after all-it was something in the way he said it. As if he concealed a double meaning she couldn’t grasp. ‘I’ll ring for tea, shall I?’ she said, and regretted it immediately. Now he would stay.
She stood and pressed the bell button then hovered by the mantle, straightening objects and collecting herself, until Boyle was at the door.
‘Mr Hunter will be joining me for tea,’ said Hannah.
Boyle looked at Robbie suspiciously.
‘He was a friend to my brother,’ Hannah added, ‘in the war.’
‘Ah,’ said Boyle. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll have Mrs Tibbit fetch up tea for two.’ How deferential he was. How conventional his deference made her seem.
Robbie was looking around, taking in the morning room. The Art Deco furnishings that Deborah had selected (‘the latest thing’) and Hannah had always tolerated. His gaze drifted from the octagonal mirror above the fire to the gold and brown diamond-print curtains.
‘Modern, isn’t it?’ Hannah said, striving for flippancy. ‘I’m never quite sure I like it, but my husband’s sister says that’s the point of modernity.’
Robbie seemed not to hear. ‘David spoke of you often,’ he said. ‘I feel that I know you. You and Emmeline and Riverton.’
Hannah sank onto the edge of the lounge at mention of David. She had schooled herself not to think of him, not to open the box of tender memories. And yet here sat the one person with whom she might be able to discuss him. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘tell me about David, Mr Hunter.’ She steeled herself. ‘Was he… did he…’ She pressed her lips together, looked at Robbie. ‘I’ve often hoped he forgave me.’
‘Forgave you?’
‘I was such a prig that last winter, before he left. We weren’t expecting you. We were used to having David to ourselves. I was rather stubborn, I fear. I spent the entire duration ignoring you, wishing you weren’t there.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t notice.’
Hannah smiled wistfully. ‘Then it seems I wasted my energy.’
The door opened and Boyle appeared with the salver of afternoon tea. He laid it on the table by Hannah and stood back.
‘Mr Hunter,’ said Hannah, aware that Boyle was lingering, eyeing Robbie. ‘Boyle said you had something to return to me.’
‘Yes,’ Robbie said, reaching into his pocket. Hannah nodded to Boyle, assured him everything was in hand, his presence no longer required. As the door closed, Robbie withdrew a piece of cloth. It was tatty, with threads loose, and Hannah wondered how on earth he thought this might belong to her. As she watched she realised it was an old piece of ribbon, once white, now brown. He peeled the ribbon open, fingers shaking, and held it toward her.
Her breath caught in her throat. Wrapped inside was a tiny book.
She reached over and plucked it gingerly from its shroud. Turned it over in her hands to look at its cover, though she knew well enough what it would say.
A wave of reminiscence: being chased through the Riverton grounds, drunk on the thrill of adventure; whispered secrets in the shadowy nursery. ‘I gave this to David. For luck.’
He nodded.
Her eyes met his. ‘Why did you take it?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘David would never have given this away.’
‘No, he wouldn’t, he didn’t, I was only ever its messenger. He wanted it returned, the last thing he said was take it to Nefertiti. And I have.’
Hannah didn’t look at him. The name. Her own secret name. He didn’t know her well enough. She closed her fingers around the little book, dropped the lid on memories of being brave and untamed and full of prospect, lifted her head to meet his gaze. ‘Let’s speak of other things.’
Robbie nodded slightly and pushed the ribbon back into his pocket. ‘What do people speak of when they meet again like this?’
‘They ask each other what they’ve been doing,’ said Hannah, tucking the tiny book inside her escritoire. ‘Where their lives have taken them.’
‘Well then,’ Robbie said. ‘What have you been doing, Hannah? I can see well enough where life has taken you.’
Hannah straightened, poured a cup of tea and held it out to him. The cup jiggled against its saucer in her hand. ‘I’ve married. A gentleman called Theodore Luxton, you might have heard of him. He and his father are in business. They collect companies, or so I believe.’
Robbie was watching her, but gave no indication that Teddy’s
