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When Alice went down to find some tea the next morning there was Richard, already seated at the table in the dining room, framed in the garden window. Seeing him there gave Alice a bit of a jolt; he was every bit as handsome as ever, his navy officer's jacket on the back of the chair. He smiled widely at her.

‘Alice. Dear. Drove all night to get here as early as I could.' He stood up and indicated the empty chair next to him.

No sign of Celia.

Alice sat down and helped herself to a piece of toast from the rack. The sideboard had large serving platters of beans and eggs, but she felt too nervy to eat any of it.

‘Where did you drive from?'

‘Ship's stationed at Portsmouth.'

‘It took all night to get here?'

‘Pretty much. The blackout and all that.'

‘Poor you. Well, I'm so glad you managed to get leave this weekend. Being out there on the sea, has it been very awful?'

‘You know, rather not talk about that right now. I'd much rather concentrate on you.'

And drat it, yes, she was blushing. She focused on spreading some pale jam on the toast.

‘Only wish it were just the two of us this weekend, just you and me,' he murmured, leaning in.

She wondered if she had misheard, then remembered the unattractive piece of toast held to her mouth. She put it down. He laid a hand on the table close to her forearm and she could feel how close he was, a tickling effect from the hairs on her skin tightening.
She couldn't help it; she stared at him. With his blond hair and regular features that were so right, he looked every inch the naval officer, the absolute poster boy. He was staring back at her, strangely intent.

‘I've been a fool, Alice. Ma and Celia, they put such pressure on me, don't you see? I should have listened to in here,' and he put his other hand on his breastbone. ‘Isn't there some way we can spend some time alone this weekend, talk things over? I've got the car. Why don't we pop out for lunch? Just you and me.' He was whispering.

Blushing ridiculously she glanced at the other people sitting across the expanse of white linen. They were carrying on with their conversation, unaware of the momentous events taking place on the other side of the table.

‘I suppose we could, after rehearsals are over this morning. There's quite a long break before the afternoon session. It would be so lovely to talk.'

He squeezed her hand. ‘Deal then,' he said. ‘And thank you, darling. I've so little time, don't you see?' Wiping his mouth with his napkin he got up. ‘See you later then.'

She could hardly concentrate on the music. She was fizzing with nerves, longing for the rehearsal to end – when she would step into the car with Richard. She kept her head from turning to look back to where he was standing. Was he trying to say that it was over with Celia? But gradually the music began to assert itself, and she began to focus and work on her part. Then suddenly it was over. Daniel tapped on the music stand and said they'd break. ‘Back for the last rehearsal at three.'

Richard smiled at her conspiratorially as he left the room. It was ridiculous all this subterfuge, but of course it would be so hard not to take half a dozen other people in the car once the idea was mooted about. She slipped away and waited outside on the steps where his car was parked to the side.

When he didn't appear she thought maybe she'd got it wrong, and then he came running out and they were driving away.

The Crown Hotel was a square, sandstone building on the way to Banbury. It smelled of pork pies and beer. They took a table by the window, sitting each side of a chintz-covered corner seat. The table was varnished to almost black, imitating a Tudor relic. The waitress brought ham salad, wet lettuce and a plate of bread and butter, the squares of ham flabby, more tinned spam than ham. Richard looked at the plates, raised his eyebrows so that Alice giggled. He called back the waitress, gave her a ten-pound note and told her to bring a bottle of champagne. He turned his attention back to Alice. Reaching across the table he balled her hand up inside his fist. She winced: he squeezed so tightly.

‘Look, is there still a chance for me, Alice? Oh Alice, dear, if you only knew how I still feel about you.'

A boy in an apron came back with the champagne bottle and two glasses on a tray. He struggled to loosen the cork, so Richard took over, eased it out and filled two glasses. They waited in silence till he left.

When she spoke her voice sounded hoarse and tight.

‘I still care about you, Richard, of course I do, very much, but . . .'

‘I know I'm passionate about you, darling. Don't you feel the same for me still? It's been the only thing that's kept me going really, thinking of us, on the river at midnight, remember, taking out the punt? And in my room, alone together.'

‘Of course I do. How could I forget?'

‘I've been such a fool. Wasted so much time. I don't ever want to be such a fool again.'

‘Really Richard? Because I feel the same about you. I haven't stopped missing you.' She felt tears welling up. ‘You're all I think about. All I want.'

He stared at her, the full beam of his focus on her. ‘Alice, after lunch, we could go upstairs. They have rooms.'

There was a beat while she took in what he had just said. Her hands on the polish of the table felt tacky and moist, sticking to the surface uncomfortably. It was the war. It was the war that made people so brutal, so honest. She swallowed, felt a clamour in her head, the smell of his hair close to her face as she looked down on his bent head, a sharp almost goaty smell.

‘Oh, Richard, I don't think that's a good idea. Everything's happening so fast. Let's eat and then maybe we should get some air, walk along the river. We don't need to rush at things, dear.'

His face when he looked up was suddenly sulky and pinched. They ate in silence, the clink of knives and forks making the silence seem more ridiculous. She drank just the one glass, then almost two in the end. Richard finished the bottle, threw down his napkin and said, ‘OK, let's do that walk.'

He stalked out of the hotel. Really, he did always manage to make her feel guilty – when she was the one who had every right to be offended. She ran to catch up with his long strides as they headed across a lumpy field towards the riverbank. The air was flat and frozen, too cold for birdsong; the banks of weeds along the path were papery straw, washed to grey by winter. A sound of rushing water ahead of them was getting louder. He was striding on, slapping at the weeds with the back of his hand.

‘It's a bit slippery here,' she called out. ‘Do take care.' There was no reply.

She hurried to catch up.

‘I've started giving a few lectures at evening classes,' she called out. ‘It's great fun. We get all sorts of working people, but they read endless books and they're so keen and ready to discuss them. Of course, they read anything and everything, in quite a disorganised, haphazard way, so they do need guiding, but once I've given the lecture and opened the discussion—'

‘Alice. Darling. I don't want to talk about your lectures. You know what I want.' He turned towards her, blocking the path. He was almost shaking, holding her wrists so firmly that she couldn't move. The force of his wanting her so much felt like downing a whole bottle of champagne. All the months that she'd longed for him welled up now inside her throat, painfully; all those hours of trying to understand why he'd stopped loving her; and now, the pressure of his hands on her wrist bones, proof that it had all been nothing but a silly mistake; she was wanted, vindicated.

His arms folded round her waist, pulling her in. He was so close she could smell the familiar almond perfume of his Fortnum's soap; she could feel the small heat coming off his skin as he put his cheek against hers. The sound of the water going over the weir filled her ears.

‘Let's forget the rehearsal. I'm so mad about you, Alice. Why don't we stay here all night, just the two of us? Run away from everyone else. Now.'

‘But they need us.' She gave a small laugh. ‘There's no such thing as Tallis's thirty-eight part motet. Richard, I love you so very much, but this, rushing at everything . . .''

‘Alice, if you don't want to come with me now, if you don't really love me any more, I swear, I'll throw myself into the water. I swear, I'll do it.'

‘You don't mean that.'

‘I will. I'll do it.'

He took a step towards the water. His face was wild but watchful. She was on the point of running forward, pulling him back, saving him, but she didn't move. She felt very calm. Standing there in front of the water, as if about to jump, he looked so very like an actor in a cheap provincial play. And she recognised that expression, the way he would watch her and calculate, his thin face politely bullying.

She'd forgotten just how Richard could throw a tantrum, how he could upset and dominate the whole day with a mood. And then a niggling little thought presented itself clearly at the front of her mind.

‘But you wouldn't.'

‘How do you know I won't do it?'

‘Something you said, about how long it took you to get here. Richard, you didn't drive straight here, did you? You went to see someone else first.'

He looked guilty. Caught out.

‘I had to see someone, an old friend.'

‘And she turned you down. Celia, or whoever it was, wouldn't let you stay the night, so you thought, give old Alice a try.'

He paced up and down the bank, exasperated, shouting almost. ‘Alice, this could be my last weekend. You don't know what it's like out there. I could be dead next week. I love you now, so why shouldn't we share that?'

She blinked. Blinked away tears. She felt cheap and cold and foolish. One ham salad and a bottle of indifferent fizz and he thought he'd talk her into bed for an hour or two.

‘No.'

‘It's not as if you minded before.' He looked spiteful.

She slapped him. Not bothering to see what he did next she started walking back. She didn't care if he followed or not. Didn't care if he jumped in.

Then, damn it, she realised she'd need a lift back with him. She waited by the car in front of the hotel. When he appeared, leaving just enough time to let her worry that he might have gone through with it, he got into the car and slammed the door shut, and started the engine without once looking at her. For a moment she thought he was going to leave her there. But he waited, revving the engine while she opened the car door and got in.

They drove away, Richard clutching the wheel tightly and staring straight ahead.

After a while she broke the silence.

‘Let's just enjoy being together again. Don't let's spoil that. Old friends?'

‘Sorry. Not likely to happen really, is it? Not as if we'll be mixing with the same people much.' He took out a cigarette and lit up, driving with one hand. ‘Of course, the wedding with Cee will still go ahead. They won't let me get out of that. Just that Cee has this thing, you know, saving herself for the big day and all that.'

She couldn't wait to get out of the car. As soon as they pulled up at the side of the manor she threw the door open and stumbled out. He leaned over and slammed the door shut after her, sat on in the car.

Ralph was sitting on the steps. He looked at her flustered face and struggled to his feet quickly as she ran past.

‘Alice, whatever's the matter?' he called out. ‘Alice?'

But she managed to escape him.

She hid in the lavatory. She sat down on the wooden lid and clunked the Victorian chain once or twice to hide the noise of her crying. She was more angry than anything. She waited for the hiccupping to stop convulsing her shoulders. Then, feeling totally exhausted, her eyes stinging, she wearily washed her face with cold water. Turning off the heavy tap she stared at the mess in the mirror.

Yes, she looked awful, but quite frankly she didn't care. Beyond the frosted glass of the window she could see the muted shapes of the garden. All she wanted was to be out in the cold air. She looked round at the beautiful Delft tiles on the walls, the pictures of horses and dogs; it was a grand, baronial sort of lavatory, the sort you felt honoured to spend time in, but it was still a lavatory.

After wandering around the garden, the frost already starting to glint on the winter leaves and the stone paths, she came back inside.
She glanced in a mirror and saw a face that looked almost passable. Rehearsals were starting, people clattering up the wooden stairs to the long gallery. Joining everyone else she suddenly felt giddy, reckless and, well, released from something shabby. Had she really ever wanted a whole life with Richard?

‘Everything OK, at lunch?' Ralph asked as rehearsals started.

‘Incredibly dull,' she said.

He seemed rather satisfied with her answer.

During the afternoon they moved from the hard work of learning the music into a flow of melody and volume, following together the swoops and dives of Daniel's arms. As he urged singers in on cue, raising and lowering the volume with his hand, the music began to breathe and pulse. The sun showed pink through the frosted lead panes of the windows. Alice's toes and fingers, the ends of her nose were cold, but she found herself wrapped up in sound, listening to Ralph as they followed the thread of song, their voices hitting the harmonies with pleasing effects in a way that made them both smile broadly.

She didn't even care when she saw Richard stooping low over a first year, turning her page as they sang. The girl stared up at him like a mesmerised rabbit. Alice took in the girl's escaping hair and inexpert overdone red lipstick. Perhaps she should warn her.

When Daniel finally let them stop the last of a red sun was burning away behind the silhouetted winter trees. She stayed and talked with Ralph and his friends for the rest of the evening, grateful for his easy company. And all evening Barbara stayed close to Ralph, warding Alice off with her eyes.