Love Always

without children of her own –

Miranda’s godmother. She was absentminded but very generous – when Miranda was ten and a half she bought her a pearl necklace from Asprey’s – but it wasn’t fair on the others.

‘Feel how gorgeous it is,’ Miranda said, taking her mother’s hand and running her fingers over the thick, beautiful fabric, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘The capri pants today, too – the cut! It’s so perfect. They’re the nicest things I’ve ever owned.’

Frances didn’t know what to say. Funny, what a difference the right clothes and a sparkle in the eye made to the girl. Al these years of struggling to make Miranda happy, and it turned out she should have just taken her to Harrods and bought her some nicer clothes.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even as she chided herself she looked again at her daughter, laughing with Cecily for once instead of snapping at her, tucking her shining black hair behind her ear, eyes shining. She hadn’t seen her like this for a long time. She, Frances, as much as anyone else, was responsible for making Miranda feel smal , and she was suddenly overcome with guilt.

Miranda turned back to her. ‘Is it real y al right, Mummy?’

‘Did you write and thank Connie?’ said Frances, taking a sip of her champagne.

‘Of course I did.’ Miranda stared at her mother, her green eyes unblinking. ‘I wrote her a real y long letter tel ing her al the lovely things I could buy for ten pounds. And then she sent me another pound in the post, just like that! In case I went over it.’

Frances sighed. How very Miranda. ‘Darling, that’s awful of you.’ But she couldn’t help smiling at her.

Cecily sipped her champagne, gingerly holding the stem of the flute. It was a special night, so she was al owed a glass. ‘Mm,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled her. ‘It’s so fizzy.’

‘Don’t get drunk and make a fool of yourself,’ Archie told her. He was himself beautiful y turned out, his dark hair gleaming with bril iantine like a matinee idol. Next to his sister, they made quite a pair.

‘What, like peeking at people while they get undressed?’ Cecily said sharply, turning away from him.

Archie’s expression darkened and he stammered. ‘What?’ Cecily’s face flushed, but she was saved from responding by a clinking sound.

‘Welcome, al of you,’ said Arvind, addressing the assembled group, much to their surprise. He took his wife’s hand. ‘We are glad to have you al here.’

‘Yes, cheers,’ Jeremy said, raising his glass. ‘Thanks, Uncle Arvind. We love being here.’

Next to him, Miranda rol ed her eyes. Frances, seeing her expression, tried not to smile, shaking her head at her instead. Dear, staid Jeremy.

Arvind gave Jeremy a polite smile. ‘Your good health, al of you. You are the future. I salute you.’

He stepped forward, raised his glass, and then frowned, as if he was surprised he’d spoken.

‘Daddy is pretty eccentric,’ Miranda whispered loudly to Guy, who was standing next to her. ‘Just ignore him.’

Guy nodded. ‘Excuse me a moment, would you? Sir –’ he said, moving determinedly towards Arvind and leaving Miranda standing alone. ‘I’m extremely sorry to bother you with work, but I felt I couldn’t stay here and not tel you how much I enjoyed The Modern Fortress.’

‘You enjoyed it?’ Arvind said. ‘How extraordinary.’

Guy was nonplussed. ‘Wel , perhaps enjoyed isn’t the right word.’ There was a silence. ‘I – er, it’s a very interesting book, anyway.’

‘Thank you,’ said Arvind, staring at him through his smal round glasses. ‘You wear glasses too.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Guy equably. ‘Sometimes. For reading.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Er – me?’

‘Wel , yes, you.’ Arvind looked around, as if there was someone else there.

‘I’m up at Oxford,’ Guy said. ‘I’m doing PPE.’

‘Of course.’

‘What’s PPE?’ Cecily, who had materialised next to them, asked softly.

‘It stands for Philosophy, Politics and Economics,’ Guy told her.

‘That sounds pretty dire,’ Cecily said. ‘I mean very interesting. Sorry, Dad.’

‘Ah,’ Arvind said. ‘The child rejects the parent. Very disappointing.’

‘The child rol s her eyes at the parent,’ Cecily replied gravely, but her eyes were twinkling.

Watching them with surprise on his face – in most of the homes of his contemporaries, you cal ed your father Sir and you certainly didn’t cal his work ‘dire’ – Guy coughed. ‘You’re nearly tal er than your father,’ he told Cecily, flushing slightly as he couldn’t think of what else to say.

‘Thank you, young man, for pointing out my lack of inches,’ Arvind said. He jabbed Guy in the stomach and smiled, and Guy laughed, his nerves suddenly gone.

‘Sir, I wonder if you read Dr King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail?’ Guy asked hurriedly. ‘Because there are several points in it which you touch on in The Modern Fortress. How oppressed people cannot remain oppressed for ever. It is not possible. The desire for freedom always manifests itself and works its way through, even though it may take a long time.’