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‘I think they’d take you sooner if they could.’ Matthew grinned. ‘Now, Lady Frobisher, can I tempt you with this exquisite fondant? The pale-green icing suits your attire, methinks.’

Her mother chuckled and reached for the tiny cake. ‘You’re wicked, Matthew.’

‘Oh, I know,’ he tsk-tsked. ‘How about coming out with me, tomorrow evening, Alex? We can celebrate your new role over a dinner?’

It was as though Minerva herself had been asked out. ‘Oh, go on, darling. We’ve not got anything special on tomorrow. I thought I’d suggest to your father when he finally agrees to step out of his club that we may pay a visit to the Thorntons over at Blythe Park. We’ve been invited to supper and stay over, actually.’

Alex nodded her agreement, feeling helpless under the pressure, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to feeling delighted. ‘That would be lovely, Matthew, thank you.’

‘Excellent.’ Matthew beamed. ‘Well, allow me to organise a hackney and get you both home on this cold afternoon when you’re ready. Then I might walk around to the club and meet your father for a bowl; he’s determined I improve my pipe skills before I leave York.’

At the mention of his leaving, Alex felt surprised at how her mood lurched into a momentary gloom. There was no denying that Matthew had already brightened their household considerably with his helplessly jolly disposition.

She allowed him to take her arm and noticed once again how he paid careful attention to Minerva, escorting them both to the reception hall of the hotel while he stepped outside to organise their ride home.

‘Isn’t he a breath of fresh air?’ Minerva seemed to be speaking aloud rather than asking Alex a direct question.

‘I have to admit he is pleasurable company. He makes me smile a lot.’

‘Oh, darling, that does make me glad. You know your father and I only want your happiness; you’re all we have.’ Minerva’s eyes were soft with affection and Alex’s emotions felt like they were being conched, melting gladly beneath the touch of her mother’s glance. This was Minerva at her fond best and Alex knew her mother’s smothering ways never came from a place that was anything but dauntingly loving. Alex wanted to please her parents but she didn’t want to please them at the expense of her aspirations. Maybe Matthew offered a bridge between the two?

With this notion Alex allowed him to kiss her cheek and help her into the hackney. He diligently did the same for Minerva, beaming into the carriage as soon as they’d settled themselves with the leather squeaking beneath them.

‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ Matthew politely lifted his bowler hat. ‘I shall stay at the club tonight, Lady Frobisher. He turned to Alex. ‘I’ll book a table somewhere delightful for us tomorrow,’ he added, before glancing to the man holding the reins. ‘Drive on, thank you.’ He flipped a coin that she presumed was deftly caught and pocketed.

Minerva gave a contented sigh. ‘Oh, darling, I forgot to mention. Daddy received word this afternoon that Duncan might be home on leave shortly.’

‘Duncan? When?’ Spangles of panic traced through her body until she imagined her mother could see fireworks flying from her gloved fingers, like the blitz of sparks from a tram. She showed none of this in her tone, though.

Her mother shrugged as the carriage lurched past the ancient water tower before they crossed Lendal Bridge. ‘I’m not certain. Your father simply mentioned it as probably happening next month. I do like Duncan Cameron.’

There it was, the gentle, unspoken, invisible and very genuine threat. Alex had no doubt it was deliberate but she also had no doubt it was meant to encourage her towards Matthew. She allowed the journey to The Mount to continue in silence but she fully understood the decision she faced in the next few days.

__________

At the club, which sat jauntily to one side of the Lendal Bridge with splendid views over the River Ouse, Matthew and Charles shared an aperitif.

Charles had been reluctant to taste his companion’s suggestion but had acquiesced when the waiter had agreed it was a surprisingly delicious pre-dinner drink. ‘Well, I can’t say I’ve been much of a fan of gin in my time, young Matthew, but this is a novel way to wet my whistle before dinner.’

‘Gin, lemon, water and sugar, sir. Couldn’t be easier. I’ll grant it’s more suitable to the tropics, perhaps a humid English summer’s evening, but I just felt like something a bit zingy tonight.’

‘Zingy, eh? Well, it’s that, all right,’ Charles said, holding up his glass to stare through the clear liquid to the tall bank of windows as daylight drained from the comfortable chamber in which they sat in armchairs. ‘But I’m a whisky man, Matthew. Nothing to match the honeyed sweetness of a ripe malt to warm my blood on a cold night.’

The waiter who had been serving them sidled up to where they lounged. ‘May I refresh your glass, Mr Britten-Jones?’

It was Charles who spoke, though. ‘Now, who are you, then? You’re a fresh face around here.’

‘I’m James, Sir Charles. I started only this week at the club.’

‘And you already know my name and this young whippet’s name too,’ he said, nodding at Matthew. ‘Impressive. Where’ve you come from, then?’

‘Bristol, sir,’ James replied.

Charles gave a sound of surprise and James appeared taken aback. ‘My companion here is from Bristol.’

James smiled lazily. ‘I don’t believe we have mixed in the same circles, sir.’ There was something vaguely suggestive about the man’s remark but although Charles registered it, he didn’t dwell on it. He was feeling thoroughly comfortable, in no hurry as dinner had turned into supper, and that was still many hours away; frankly he was still feeling tight from midday luncheon with his rail colleagues.

‘. . . from Clifton Down,’ he heard Matthew saying to the waiter. ‘And you?’