When they reached Knightsbridge it started to sleet. Feeling unaccountably melancholy, she watched the blobs of melting snow shuffle down the window.
The V&A cheered her. It was delightful, she decided, as they moved through the rooms, Peter in a world of his own as he studied the objects and read the labels, she drifting after him in a pleasant haze. When they emerged, a little before three, the sleet was worse, and as they descended the steps, she slipped in slush and fell, scraping her leg on the sharp edge of the stone.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, helping her up.
‘I think so,’ she replied, examining her calf. ‘Blast!’ Her stocking had torn, and the graze underneath was already beginning to smart and well with blood.
‘Oh,’ he said, too young and inexperienced to handle the matter. ‘I say, will you really want to do Madame Tussaud’s with that? We can always go home, you know. It’s not far from here.’
She looked again to judge whether the tear was very obvious and decided it was.
‘We could take a cab,’ Peter said anxiously. ‘Mother’s given me enough.’
‘Why don’t I stop off quickly and change,’ Beatrice said. She could find out if Rafe had called, and if he hadn’t, well, it would be miserable to sit indoors listening for the phone. ‘I’d like to see the waxworks.’
The cab drew up outside the house in Queen’s Gate.
‘I’ll wait here for you, shall I?’ Peter said. She hobbled up the steps, not needing to knock because the little maid had seen the cab and opened the door right away. She wore a curious expression on her sharp little face.
‘I’ll be going straight out again,’ Beatrice told the girl, keeping her coat, and on the way upstairs wondered whether the maid had been about to say something but then hadn’t.
She went to the bathroom and dealt with her graze, which was more extensive than she’d thought, but at least had stopped bleeding, and she was lucky to find a roll of plaster in a cupboard. Her stocking looked as though it might be repairable so she washed it out and hung it on the chair in her bedroom, before finding a fresh one in her case. All the while she was dogged by an awful sense of unease.
It was when she came downstairs that she noticed for the first time a military great-coat hanging on the stand behind the front door. She stopped still, her hand on the banister, thinking about this. Then, through the closed door of the drawing room she heard a man’s voice, low, followed by a woman’s careless laugh.
At that moment the little maid appeared downstairs. She was clutching a dustpan and started in surprise when she saw Beatrice. ‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t know you were there.’
‘Is there a visitor?’ she asked the maid, and again, was shot that curious expression.
‘Yes, miss, didn’t I say?’ she replied. ‘That man you kept asking about if he’d called. Well, he’s here.’
‘Is he?’ Beatrice cried. Rafe was here! ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How long has he been here?’
‘Miss!’ the maid warned. But Beatrice, who’d been waiting so long, was down the last few stairs and across the hall, pausing only briefly to knock before walking in.
Rafe and Angie were sitting together on the sofa facing the door. Angie was lying back, relaxing. Rafe sat on the edge of the seat, close to her, intimately close. His fingers were interlocked with hers. The pair looked up at Bea in surprise. Bea stared back at their intertwined hands. What were they doing?
‘Bea,’ Rafe said, loosing Angie’s hand and getting up. ‘I thought you were out. I mean—’
‘Well, I was. I’ve just come in. Actually, I’m going out again.’
‘How are you?’ Rafe asked.
‘I’m very well,’ she said.
‘Come and sit down, Bea,’ Angie said, almost purring. ‘What have you done with Peter?’
‘He’s outside in the cab.’ She explained what had happened. ‘I’ll tell him to come in, if you like,’ she said, getting up and going to the door, then hesitated. She still had that picture in mind of those hands, Rafe’s and Angie’s, intertwined. She didn’t quite understand, and yet she thought she ought to.
‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ she said to Rafe.
Rafe said, ‘I’m sorry, I telephoned and only Angie was here. She said to come and wait, so I did.’
She knew him too well. The slight blush, his look too steady. She wanted earnestly to believe him but couldn’t quite manage it. Angie knew I wasn’t due back till late afternoon. This fact was inescapable.
‘Are you all right?’ Rafe asked.