Time of the Hunter's Moon

We talked until we were drowsy and rather reluctantly retired to our beds because this was the end of another happy day.

John had to go to his bank on the next morning, and on the way there took me to the address which Monique had given me.

It was an elegant house in Albemarle Street leading off Piccadilly. We had driven through Hyde Park, which I thought enchanting, then turned into Piccadilly, where fashionably attired people strolled, and the horses and carriages passed picturesquely down the main thoroughfare.

John took me in. A smart young maid said that Madame was waiting for me. I was ushered into a drawing room and there was Monique looking very pretty indeed in a frilly morning gown of turquoise blue.

I introduced John, and Monique begged him to take a Little coffee or wine with us, but he said he had business in the City and would collect me in two hours' time.

"So soon?" said Monique in her attractive English.

"I shall have to go then," I said, "for we have arranged to take a trip on the river this afternoon." John left us and we settled down.

"What a charming man!" said Monique, when he had gone. "Henri, too, is out on business. He hopes to meet you when he comes back. I have talked so much of you."

I said: "Marriage suits you, Monique."

"Oh, Henri ... he is so good."

"It turned out very well then ... You used to call it your mariage de convenance. Do you remember?"

"Oh yes, it was decided in our cradles. Oh, the papers and the lawyers ... the settlement ... the arguments."

"And it worked!"

"And this Mr. Markham ... he is for you?"

"Oh no. He's just a friend. I should have told you. He is Lydia's brother."

"Of course ... Lydia Markham. Where is Lydia then?"

"Oh ... you don't know ... Lydia died."

"But no!"

"It was a skiing accident."

"Lydia ... skiing! I am surprised. But how terrible. I never knew."

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't have heard if I hadn't written to her. Her brother opened my letter and then came to see me. That was when I was with my aunt."

"Oh, the aunt, yes. How you used to talk about the Aunt! Who was it?"

"Aunt Patty."

"The good Aunt Patty.

The maid came in bringing coffee. When she had gone Monique poured.

"I cannot stop thinking about Lydia ... To die like that. It is hard to believe."

"Yes, a terrible shock. I was astonished when her brother told me she had married."

"Oh, I knew that. Lydia wrote and told me so. She was wildly happy."

"She didn't write to me."

Monique was silent and I looked at her sharply.

Her lips were pressed together. I remembered that it was an old habit of hers. it meant that she knew something which she should not tell.

"I wondered why she didn't write to me," I said. "When I wrote to you I wrote to her also. I had replies from you and Frieda but nothing from Lydia."

"Well, she didn't write to you because ..." "Because what?"

"Oh ... I don't suppose it matters now. She thought you might be a little upset."

"Upset? Why should I be?"

"About her being the one to get married, you see."

"Why should I be upset?"

"Well, because we thought, didn't we, that you were the one."

I looked blank.

"I'm sure it doesn't matter now. It might have been you who had the skiing accident. But I don't suppose you would have. You would have been better at it."

"I don't really follow all this, Monique."

"Cast your mind back. Do you remember Elsa?" "Yes, and it's a funny thing. She's at my school now."

"Elsa ... at your school? Well, that is very strange. What they call a coincidence, of course."

"She said she got tired of Schaffenbrucken and came to England. She had one job which she didn't like and ended up at my school."

"Very odd. But then life is."

"You were telling me about Lydia."

"I was saying, do you remember how Elsa told us that if we went into the forest at the time of Hunter's Moon we might meet our future husbands?"

"Yes. We were a silly lot. We believed it."

"Well, there was something in it. Do you remember the man we called the Stranger?"

"Yes, yes, I do remember."

"We thought he liked you. He seemed to. That was why Lydia didn't want you to know she was married. She thought you'd be upset because you would know it wasn't you he had liked after ail. It was Lydia."

The room was swinging round me. I could not believe I was hearing correctly.

I said: "His name was Edward Compton."

"No, it wasn't that. It was er ... let me think ... Mark somebody. Mark Chessingham ... or ton ... or something."

"It couldn't have been."

"Yes, it was. She was ever so excited. She said it was trie about meeting your future husband. Elsa was right about that. But she said she wasn't telling you because she thought you might be hurt. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It seemed so odd ..."

"You do mind, Cordelia. You did think that he..."

"I'd almost forgotten him. I'd told myself he didn't exist."

"Oh, he existed all right. He was Lydia's husband. Poor Lydia! He was very good-looking, wasn't he? I only saw him once but he really was ... fascinating. Do have some more coffee."

She went on talking but I was not listening to what she said. I could only think. So he went away and married Lydia. But why had he said his name was that of a man who had been dead for twenty years?

I don't think Monique found my visit as exciting as she had thought it was going to be. John called for me as we had arranged and I was immensely relieved when we said goodbye to Monique and her husband who had returned just before our departure.

As we drove to Kensington, I said: "I have made an alarming discovery."

Then I told him about the man in the forest and how I had seen him on the boat and again at Grantley, how he had disappeared suddenly and that when I had gone to the village in Suffolk where he had told me his home was, I had found that the manor house which he had said was his home was burned out and the name he had given me was on the tombstone of a man who had died twenty years before. And this, according to Monique, was Lydia's husband.

He listened intently. He said it was an incredible story and he wondered what it meant.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," he went on. "We'll go down to that Suffolk village where you saw the tombstone and we'll see what we can find out."

There was a train to Bury St Edmunds at eight thirty next morning and John and I decided to catch it. Charles was taking Teresa on the river from Westminster Stairs to Hampton Court so they were safely disposed of.

It was a relief to be able to talk to John about this strange affair, because I did feel now that it not only concerned me but Lydia.

He asked me to describe the man. It wasn't easy because the description could fit so many. Not that he was ordinary by any means. But fair curling hair, blue eyes, chiselled features ... many had those, and it was not easy to explain that quality of other worldliness.

I told myself there must have been a mistake. Lydia could have imagined that her lover was the romantic stranger she had met in the wood at the time of the Hunter's Moon.

"I can't believe that she would do that. Lydia wasn't a dreamer. She was very practical really."

"That's true. How are we going to start looking?"

"Well, his name is Edward Compton or Mark Chessingham."

"But why should he give two names?"

"I don't know. That's what we have to find out. He mentioned this place Croston in Suffolk and the name of Edward Compton. You went there and saw the name on a tombstone. There must be some connection."