The Parliament House

    'Don't you enjoy coming to London?'

    'Only if I can see you, Christopher. As you know, I'm a country girl at heart. We may have St James's Park on our doorstep, but it's not the same as being surrounded by thousands of acres of land.'

    'There are plenty of fine estates on the outskirts of the city.'

    'But none that I'd exchange for the one we already own.'

    'What about your father?' asked Christopher. 'He used to describe the capital as a veritable cesspool. His exact words, if I recall them aright, were that London is a swamp of crime and corruption.'

    'He still holds to that view.'

    'Then why has he spent so much time here recently?'

    'Commitments of a political nature.'

    'But the House of Commons has not been sitting.'

    'Father doesn't confine his activities to the Parliament House,' she said. 'He claims that the most fruitful debates take place outside it. He's gathered a small group of like-minded men around him.'

    'Men like Bernard Everett, for example?'

    'Yes, Christopher. As soon as he was elected, he paid us a visit in Northamptonshire. He and father discussed political affairs all night.'

    'That must have been very tiresome for you, Susan.'

    'It's worse when we come here.' 'Is it?'

    'Far worse,' she complained. 'There are evenings when the whole house seems to echo with political gossip. They talk about who's rising in power, who's likely to fall, how this objective can be best achieved and that one cunningly blocked, how the King exercises too much sway over the House of Commons and how his brother is an even more dangerous threat to civil liberty.'

    Christopher laughed. 'Someone has been eavesdropping, I see.'

    'What else can I do when the place has been invaded like that?' 'How many people attend these meetings?'

    'Five or six, as a rule.'

    'And your father is the acknowledged leader?'

    'The habit of command is a difficult thing to break. Father, likes to be in charge. Oh, I'm sure that they have worthy aims and pursue them with due sincerity,' she conceded, 'but it makes for some dull evenings from my point of view. I foolishly assumed that you had designed a London home for us.'

    'That's precisely what I did do.'

    'No, Christopher. This is merely another Parliament House.'

    'Then we'll have to devise more ways to get you out of it.'

    'I'd be so grateful.'

    'I hadn't realised that it was matters of government that had drawn your father back here so much. It crossed my mind that the city held some other attraction for him.'

    Susan bridled slightly. 'What can you mean?'

    'Nothing, nothing,' he said, seeing her reaction and regretting his comment. 'I was obviously mistaken.'

    'You were, I assure you. Father is eager for political advancement. He will not get that by languishing on his estate in Northamptonshire. Friends have to be seen, ideas discussed, plans agreed. There's never a day when he's not engaged in some aspect of parliamentary work.'

    'Is that where he is now, Susan?'

    'Of course,' she said with an unaccustomed edge to her voice. 'Father is dining with a close political ally.'

       'I thank the Lord that you have no interest whatsoever in affairs of state,' said Sir Julius Cheever, beaming at her. 'That would have been disastrous.'

    'Why?'

    'Because, dear lady, we would never have agreed.'

    'I cannot imagine our disagreeing about anything, Sir Julius,' she said, sweetly, 'for you are the most agreeable man I've ever met.'

    He chortled. 'Nobody has ever described me as agreeable before.'

    'Nobody else has ever divined your true nature.'

    Dorothy Kitson was a handsome woman in her early forties with the kind of sculptured features that only improved with age. Twice widowed, she had inherited considerable wealth on each occasion but it had made her neither extravagant nor overbearing. She had remained the quiet, intelligent, unassuming woman she had always been and, while she had had many suitors, none had been treated as serious contenders for her hand. That, at least, was the situation until Sir Julius had come into her life. He was so unlike anybody she had ever met before that she found him intriguing.

    They were dining together at his favourite establishment in Covent Garden, a place that combined excellent food with a degree of privacy not usually found elsewhere. Clearly enchanted with her, Sir Julius wanted Dorothy Kitson entirely to himself. Having started with oysters, they had a hash of rabbits and lamb before moving on to a chine of beef, all of it accompanied by a plentiful supply of wine. Since his guest ate and drank in moderation, Sir Julius reined in his own appetite as well.

    'I bless the man who organised the races at Newmarket that day,' he said, raising his glass. 'He made it possible for me to meet you.'

    'It was only by accident that I was present, Sir Julius. I had planned to spend the day in the city but my brother insisted that I go with him to Newmarket as he had a horse running there.'

    'Then my blessing on your brother as well.'

    'As it happened, his filly won the race.'

    'It was not the only winner that day,' he said, gallantly.

    'Thank you.'

    'Once I'd seen you, Dorothy, I lost all interest in horses.'

    She smiled. 'I'm not sure that I appreciate the way that you put that,' she said, touching his hand, 'but the thought is a kind one.'

    'I meant no offence,' he insisted.

    'None was taken.'

    'Then you'll agree to come to Newmarket with me again one day?'

    'Only if you consent to watch the horses this time.'

    They shared a laugh then sipped their wine. The change that had come over Sir Julius was remarkable. In place of his blunt demeanour and combative manner was a tenderness that seemed wholly out of character. He never once raised his voice, never once lost his temper. In the company of Dorothy Kitson, he was restrained and gentlemanly. His battered face was permanently wreathed in smiles. She, too, was plainly relishing every moment of their time together but not without a trace of guilt. Dorothy waited until the plates had been cleared away before leaning in closer to him.

    'You've been very considerate, Sir Julius,' she said, quietly, 'but you do not have to hold back on my account.'

    'I've not held back, dear lady. I've eaten my fill.'

    'I was not talking about the meal. You came here today with a heavy heart, and I know the cause. My brother is a magistrate, remember. Whenever a serious crime is committed, news of it soon reaches Orlando's ears.'

    His face clouded. 'He's told you about it, then?'

    'Yes. I'm so terribly sorry.'

    'Thank you.'

    'An innocent man, shot down in broad daylight - it's frightening. It must have been a dreadful shock for you to lose a friend in such hideous circumstances. The wonder is that you did not postpone a meeting with me so that you could mourn him properly.'

    'I'd never dream of doing that, Dorothy.'

    'I could have waited for a more appropriate time.'

    'Every second spent with you is appropriate,' he said with clumsy affection. 'In dining with you, I show no disrespect to Bernard. He will ever be in my thoughts.'

    'Did he have a family?'

    'A wife and three children.'

    'This will be a fearful blow to them.'

    'I advised Francis Polegate not to send word by letter. Such bad tidings ought to be delivered in person so that he can soften their impact and offer condolences. He rode off to Cambridge this morning.' 'Where will the funeral be held?' she asked.