beautiful; the may was in blossom; and it was a time for rejoicing.
It was three years since my mother had married my father and it amazed me to see how happy they were together. I think I had grown a little cynical. Dickon’s defection had made me grow up overnight. I still thought of him; he was enshrined in my heart as the perfect lover and no matter what I heard of him, nothing could change that. I used to talk about him to Lisette and Sophie and would build up romantic dreams, the theme of which was that there had been a terrible mistake; he had not written that letter jilting me; he had not married, and all this time he had been pining for me, for he had received a false letter from me.
It eased me, that dream, ridiculous as it was, for there were letters from my grandmother and Sabrina telling us how wonderful Dickon was and how happy with his dear wife Isabel, who had brought him a fortune and new interests in life.
My mother always gave me the letters to read with a certain embarrassment and apprehension, but I had learned to hide my feelings; I would read them avidly and then go away and tell myself I didn’t believe a word of them.
‘Dickon’s father-in-law is a very influential man,’ wrote Sabrina. ‘He is a banker and some high official at Court. It is all rather secret and we are not sure what he does there. He has his finger in many pies … and that means Dickon has too. You may be sure he makes the most of everything that comes his way …’
Once my grandmother and Sabrina came to visit us. They wanted to assure themselves that my mother and I were really happy.
Dickon did not come with them. ‘I suppose he can’t get his fingers out of all those pies,’ I said maliciously.
They laughed and replied that Dickon was indeed busy. He was in London a great deal and there was Eversleigh to run. He surrounded himself with good men … the right people.
‘He talks of you often, Lottie,’ said my grandmother. ‘He was so sweet to you when you came to stay, wasn’t he? Not many young men would have taken so much notice of a little girl.’
My mother put in rather tartly: ‘He took a lot of notice of Eversleigh and that included Lottie at that time.’
My grandmother ignored that and insisted: ‘It was a charming gesture to take so much interest in a little girl and he used to do everything to make Lottie happy.’
Yes, I thought. He kissed me in a way that I find hard to forget. He talked to me of marriage … and how happy we should be together. He persuaded me to love him. He tricked me, and when he got Eversleigh he jilted me.
I knew now that my mother had contrived it. She had sent for my father who had come and changed everything. Then she had given up Eversleigh because she thought that when Dickon had it he would cease to want me.
And how right she had been! I suppose I should have been grateful to her, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have cared for what reason Dickon wanted me. Perhaps I refused to let myself forget him; perhaps the idea of lost love pleased me, made me feel that my life, though tragic, was full of interest. That may well have been the case, but the fact remained that Dickon was always ready to come into my thoughts, and with the memory would come that frustrated longing.
‘There is only one fly in the ointment,’ said Sabrina; ‘they can’t get children.’
‘Poor Isabel, she does so long for a healthy child,’ added my grandmother. ‘There have been two miscarriages already. It seems as though she is ill-fated. Dickon is most disappointed.’
‘It is the only thing he cannot win for himself,’ I commented.
My grandmother and Sabrina never recognized irony when it was directed against Dickon. ‘Alas, that is so, my dear,’ said Sabrina sadly.
So there I was at the time of the royal wedding. The little Austrian girl who was about my age was coming to France to marry the Dauphin, who himself was not much older. The Comte would be at Court and I supposed
It was three years since my mother had married my father and it amazed me to see how happy they were together. I think I had grown a little cynical. Dickon’s defection had made me grow up overnight. I still thought of him; he was enshrined in my heart as the perfect lover and no matter what I heard of him, nothing could change that. I used to talk about him to Lisette and Sophie and would build up romantic dreams, the theme of which was that there had been a terrible mistake; he had not written that letter jilting me; he had not married, and all this time he had been pining for me, for he had received a false letter from me.
It eased me, that dream, ridiculous as it was, for there were letters from my grandmother and Sabrina telling us how wonderful Dickon was and how happy with his dear wife Isabel, who had brought him a fortune and new interests in life.
My mother always gave me the letters to read with a certain embarrassment and apprehension, but I had learned to hide my feelings; I would read them avidly and then go away and tell myself I didn’t believe a word of them.
‘Dickon’s father-in-law is a very influential man,’ wrote Sabrina. ‘He is a banker and some high official at Court. It is all rather secret and we are not sure what he does there. He has his finger in many pies … and that means Dickon has too. You may be sure he makes the most of everything that comes his way …’
Once my grandmother and Sabrina came to visit us. They wanted to assure themselves that my mother and I were really happy.
Dickon did not come with them. ‘I suppose he can’t get his fingers out of all those pies,’ I said maliciously.
They laughed and replied that Dickon was indeed busy. He was in London a great deal and there was Eversleigh to run. He surrounded himself with good men … the right people.
‘He talks of you often, Lottie,’ said my grandmother. ‘He was so sweet to you when you came to stay, wasn’t he? Not many young men would have taken so much notice of a little girl.’
My mother put in rather tartly: ‘He took a lot of notice of Eversleigh and that included Lottie at that time.’
My grandmother ignored that and insisted: ‘It was a charming gesture to take so much interest in a little girl and he used to do everything to make Lottie happy.’
Yes, I thought. He kissed me in a way that I find hard to forget. He talked to me of marriage … and how happy we should be together. He persuaded me to love him. He tricked me, and when he got Eversleigh he jilted me.
I knew now that my mother had contrived it. She had sent for my father who had come and changed everything. Then she had given up Eversleigh because she thought that when Dickon had it he would cease to want me.
And how right she had been! I suppose I should have been grateful to her, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have cared for what reason Dickon wanted me. Perhaps I refused to let myself forget him; perhaps the idea of lost love pleased me, made me feel that my life, though tragic, was full of interest. That may well have been the case, but the fact remained that Dickon was always ready to come into my thoughts, and with the memory would come that frustrated longing.
‘There is only one fly in the ointment,’ said Sabrina; ‘they can’t get children.’
‘Poor Isabel, she does so long for a healthy child,’ added my grandmother. ‘There have been two miscarriages already. It seems as though she is ill-fated. Dickon is most disappointed.’
‘It is the only thing he cannot win for himself,’ I commented.
My grandmother and Sabrina never recognized irony when it was directed against Dickon. ‘Alas, that is so, my dear,’ said Sabrina sadly.
So there I was at the time of the royal wedding. The little Austrian girl who was about my age was coming to France to marry the Dauphin, who himself was not much older. The Comte would be at Court and I supposed
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