She gave a rich laugh. “Of course I didn’t marry him. He was already married, with a very handsome wife, so I heard, and one daughter. My dear, what’s the matter? You look pale. Did you swallow something amiss?”
Sarah was stunned. An unspeakable thought had entered her mind. She stared at the woman’s face, trying to see her as she must have been twenty-five years ago. Was that why Papa had really been here? Was that why he had lied at first, saying he had been at his club all evening, until Dominic had given him away? Was that why he had refused to give Pitt either the woman’s name or her address?
The more she sought to evade the conclusion, the more inescapably it entrenched itself in her mind. She heard her voice asking, as if willed from outside herself:
“I suppose it was a sort of parting gift, to make sure you were all right?”
“How very romantic,” the woman smiled. “A grand goodbye, all hidden tears and momentoes to be kept forever, in tissue and ribbons? He isn’t dead, my dear, nor did he emigrate. In fact he’s perfectly well, and we remain moderately good friends, as far as discretion and the alterations of time will allow. Nothing as romantic as you imagine, merely an affair that became a friendship, and then little more than an acquaintance with pleasant memories.”
“Then he must live near here?” Sarah was compelled to continue, hoping that even now something would disprove her fear. Every new fact was a chance to discover one that would not fit Papa.
The woman smiled, her eyes bright with humour.
“Indeed,” she agreed. “So perhaps it would be indiscreet of me to tell you anything more about him. He could be someone you know!”
“Yes, I suppose,” Sarah was answering mechanically. Her conversation became stilted, but her mind was in chaos, trying to find a way through the fragments of all sorts of beliefs, about Papa, about Dominic. Did Mama know? Had she always known, and been prepared to turn a blind eye to it? Did she even mind? Or was it one of the things she had been brought up to expect, to accept as part of the nature of man? But men in general were quite different from one’s own Papa-or husband!
Sarah did not, and could not, accept it. She had never even entertained thoughts of any man other than Dominic, and her concept of love did not permit that she might. Love incorporated fidelity. One gave promises, and one kept them. One might occasionally be selfish, unreasonable, or ill-tempered; one might be untidy or extravagant. But one did not lie either in word or deed.
She stayed a little longer, talking with the woman, although she had no idea what she said-polite nonsense, stock phrases that everyone said and no one listened to. Then she took her leave and stepped into the carriage to return home.
Caroline sat alone in her bedroom. Sarah had just left and closed the door behind her.
She felt numb, her mind refusing to move, stuck fast on the one thought, repeating it over and over as if use would make it easier to bear. Edward had been having an affair with another woman, and for twenty-five years he had retained her acquaintance, still visiting her even now. Was it love? The embers of past romance? Or some kind of debt that could not be shaken off? Even pity?
Poor Sarah.
Sarah had come to her for guidance, assurance that she was not alone, and peculiarly betrayed; and Caroline had been able to give her none. Sarah had been confused, too shocked herself to understand what she was doing and to realize that Caroline had known nothing about it. Sarah had broken a thirty-year peace in thirty minutes.
Caroline stared at herself in the mirror. It was not even a matter of growing old. This other woman was older! What had Edward seen in her that Caroline had lacked? Beauty, warmth, wit, sophistication? Or was it just love, love without reason?
Why had he left his mistress? To avoid scandal? The children? Could it even have been anything as mundane as finance? She would never know, because she would never know whether whatever he said was the truth.
And that raised the other question. Was she going to tell him she knew? There could be little purpose now; on the other hand, could she conceal it? She could not possibly feel the same way about him. The years had brought familiarity, a certain contempt for patterns of life, the habit of overlooking small failings and weaknesses; but there had always been a trust, a knowledge that the bad things were superficial.
Her mind kept going back to the woman. What kind of a woman was she? Had she loved Edward, committed any lasting part of herself to him; or was it an affair, something to be set against profit and loss, so much social prestige, so much money or security, so much fun? What was it she gave him that Caroline could not?
She tried to think back to the way she had felt in those first years. Sarah must have been a small child, Charlotte newly born, Emily not yet thought of. Was that it? Had she been too involved with the children? Had she ignored him? Surely not. She thought she could remember many hours spent together, long evenings at home, nights out at dinners, parties, even concerts. Or were they later? Time was confused, telescoping.
Had he loved that other woman, or was she a diversion, something to fill a need, an appetite? Was all the past a lie?
The thought that he had loved Mrs. Attwood was appalling, something that hurt profoundly, altering years of feelings, shattering peace, destroying anything of tenderness or trust. Even if it had been appetite, was that any better?
She shivered. Suddenly she felt unclean, as if something soiled had entered her and she could not wash it out. The memory of his touch, of their familiarity, became offensive, something she wanted to forget, because she could not undo it.
She stood up, tidying her hair automatically, and pulling her dress straight. She must go downstairs and present a face to the family that masked at least some of the misery and the confusion inside her.
Grandmama knew there was something wrong with both Sarah and Caroline. At first she presumed they had had a quarrel of some sort, and naturally she wanted to know what it was about. Sarah was in the rear sitting room the following morning, and Grandmama went in, ostensibly to enquire about the arrangements for afternoon tea and what visitors they might expect, but actually to learn the facts of the quarrel.
“Good morning, Sarah, my dear,” she said purposefully.
“Good morning, Grandmama,” Sarah replied, not looking up from the letter she was writing.
“You look a little pale. Didn’t you sleep?” Grandmama pursued, sitting down on the sofa.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You seem a little agitated to me.”
“I’m perfectly all right, thank you. Don’t distress yourself on my account.”
Grandmama seized on the suggestion immediately.
“But I am distressed, my dear; I cannot help worrying about you when I see both you and your Mama looking tired and upset. If you have had some sort of disagreement, perhaps I can help to see that it is sorted out?”
If Sarah had been Charlotte, she would have said bluntly that Grandmama was more likely to add fuel to it than sort it out, but being Sarah she remained at least nominally polite.
“There is no quarrel, Grandmama; we are very close.” She smiled with unconcealed bitterness. “In fact we are fellows in misfortune.”
“Misfortune? What misfortune is that? I didn’t know anything had happened?”
“You wouldn’t. It happened twenty-five years ago.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Grandmama demanded. “What happened twenty-five years ago?”
Sarah retreated. “Nothing that need concern you. It is all over now.”
“If it still distresses you and your mother, it is not all over!” Grandmama said sharply. “What has happened, Sarah?”
“Men,” Sarah replied. “Life. Perhaps it even happened to you once.” She gave a tight little smile. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t be surprised at all!”
“What are you talking about? What about men?”
“They are shallow, disloyal and hypocritical!” Sarah said furiously. “They preach one thing and practice quite another. They have one set of rules for us and another for themselves.”
“Some men do, of course. That has always been the case. But not all. There are upright and decent men as well. Your father is one of them. I’m sorry if your husband is not.”
“Papa!” Sarah spat. “You old fool! He’s the worst of them all. Dominic may have cast his eyes where he shouldn’t, but he never set up a mistress and kept her for twenty-five years!”
