The only other person present was Lorcan McGinley, fair haired with a long, narrow face, wide mouth and very blue eyes which were startling, almost sky blue, disconcertingly direct.
The conversation began with a few remarks which seemed harmless to the degree they were almost banal, especially among people who had all been present since the previous afternoon, therefore had shared at least two meals before.
“Very mild,” Kezia said with a smile. “I notice there are still a great many roses in bloom.”
“We sometimes get them right up until Christmas,” Emily replied.
“Does the rain not rot them?” Iona asked. “We find at home it tends to.”
“We are not so wet further east,” Carson O’Day put in.
There was a sudden silence, as if the remark had been critical.
Emily looked from one to the other of them.
“Yes it does, occasionally,” she said to no one in particular. “I think it is a matter of luck. There seem to be a lot of berries on the hawthorns this year.”
“Some say it means a cold winter,” Lorcan observed without looking up from his plate.
“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Kezia replied.
“Old wives are sometimes right,” her brother pointed out without a smile. He looked at Iona, and then away again quickly, but not before their eyes had met. He continued with his soup.
Emily tried again with a different subject. This time she addressed Eudora Greville.
“I hear Lady Crombie is planning to visit Greece this winter. Have you ever been?”
“About ten years ago, but in the spring,” Eudora replied, taking up the opportunity to assist. “It was very beautiful indeed.” And she proceeded to describe it. No one was really listening, and perhaps she did not care whether they were or not. It was a safe subject, and the tension eased.
Charlotte would have liked to help as well, but all she could think of was politics, divorce or potatoes. Everything seemed to lead back to these, one way or another.
She was happy to look agreeable and affect a great interest in travel, asking questions every time it seemed the discussion might flag. It looked as though it would be a very long weekend indeed. Five or six days of this, with at least three meals every day, not counting afternoon tea, would seem like the best part of a year.
She watched the others around the table as one course was removed and the next served. Ainsley Greville appeared very much at ease, but looking more closely at his hands, she saw that when he had no food they did not lie loosely on the cloth beside his place, but one finger drummed silently, and now and then the smile on his face became fixed, as if there by effort not instinct. The responsibility for this conference must lie heavily upon him. For all his experience, and no doubt the rewards, she felt a moment’s pity for him.
Eudora, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable. Was she a far better actress? Or had she little idea of the true nature of the weekend?
Padraig Doyle also seemed to find genuine satisfaction in his meal and ate it with enjoyment, giving sincere compliments to the cook, through Emily. But since he was the representative of a major cause, he must be aware of the task which faced them and the difficulties of finding any semblance of a solution. He was simply a very fine actor. Regarding him while the main course was removed and dessert was served, Charlotte thought she saw in his face the quick emotions of an artist, the wit of a raconteur. He certainly told a very lively tale of his own travels in Turkey, mimicking various people he had met and describing their clothes and general appearance with poetic detail. Several times he set them laughing.
Charlotte noticed he spoke to Eudora very easily, as if he had known her for some length of time.
She was also aware of the brittleness between Lorcan McGinley and Fergal Moynihan, as if they could barely bring themselves to agree even upon complete irrelevances, such as the exorbitant price of decent accommodation abroad or the discomforts of travel in bad weather.
Kezia seemed very close to her brother, supporting whatever view he offered, while she never directly agreed with or contradicted O’Day.
Iona McGinley, on the other hand, seemed self-conscious when she spoke either directly to Fergal Moynihan or gave an opinion on something he had said.
Several times Charlotte caught Pitt’s eye and saw the flicker of anxiety in his gaze as he too studied the guests. And she saw Jack and Emily look at one another more than once in silent understanding and sympathy.
The meal was drawing to a grateful close when one of the footmen came to Jack’s side and announced that there was a Mr. Piers Greville arrived, and should he show him in.
Jack hesitated only a moment. “Yes, of course.” He looked across at Ainsley, then at Eudora, and saw the complete surprise in their eyes.
“I don’t know,” Eudora said simply. “I thought he was still up at Cambridge. I do hope nothing is wrong!”
“Of course not, my dear,” Ainsley assured her, although his expression belied his words. “I daresay he went home, which is only about eleven miles away, after all, and when he was told we were here, he decided to come and see us. He could have no idea it would be unsuitable.” He turned to Emily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Radley. I hope it does not inconvenience you?”
“Of course not. He is most welcome.” Emily said the only thing she possibly could. In high society people frequently turned up at country house parties uninvited. Hospitality was always given, and could be equally reciprocated when the host should return the visit at some other time. People came and went as suited them, although less so now that train travel stretched easily and conveniently all over the country. In earlier days one might be obliged to stay for a month or two at a time, simply because of the physical trial of moving, especially on appalling roads, heavily rutted by rain and sometimes unpassable in winter. “It will be charming to meet him,” she added.
Charlotte looked across the table to Pitt. He smiled back at her ruefully. It was just one of the many
