Page 8

Britten-Jones was on his feet and not as tall as her father but he wore a smile that said he didn’t care. ‘Good evening, Alexandra.’ She tried not to concentrate on the thin monocle gripped somewhat arrogantly between his brow and cheek over his right eye.

Alex moved past the sofas to the fireplace where he stood and allowed him to clasp her hand briefly. The handshake was dry, and unlike a lot of men’s, not overly firm. It was rare not to feel the ring she wore on her third finger being crushed against bone. ‘Welcome to Tilsden, Mr Britten-Jones.’

‘Do call me Matthew, or I shall feel like my father,’ he said amiably in a smoky voice that was not unattractive, and her mother tittered. ‘It’s certainly a glorious spot you have here. The building is enormous and I’m extremely fond of the tower.’

‘That’s Alexandra’s tower,’ her mother interjected and she was horrified to see Minerva give Matthew a sly wink.

Even so, Alex kept the smile in her eyes. ‘We’re very fortunate to live up on The Mount.’

‘So many mansions all clustered up here and far removed, overlooking the city like royals,’ he remarked.

Alex couldn’t be sure whether that was a couched criticism or merely an observation.

Her father seemed to hear it as the latter. ‘Yes, indeed, York is rather flat and we manage to live on its single small hump, you could say.’

‘How do you like our internal decor, Matthew? Most people are surprised by it,’ Alex offered.

‘It’s a riot,’ he admitted. ‘In a good way, of course. So much colour and joy.’

‘Not too overdone for your sensibilities?’ Alex pressed. She gestured around the room at the intensive blocks of painted murals that covered every inch of wall while beneath it dark timbered panels and floors vied for attention. As she said this she moved to her father, who pecked her forehead with a gentle kiss.

‘Looking delicious tonight, darling,’ he whispered.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ she murmured, slightly embarrassed at the wolfish way Britten-Jones regarded her, and she wondered whether exposing so much naked skin tonight was such an inspired idea. ‘You see, I know this styling was all the rage but my mother seemed to embrace it more openly than most.’ She thought her wording to be appropriately careful.

‘Actually I was rather intrigued to see it in the flesh, so to speak,’ Matthew continued, emphasising the word to make her blush but sounding full of admiration for the decor. Minerva sat forward with an enquiring expression. ‘My mother showed me a photograph in The Studio magazine that, if my memory serves me right, was taken about fourteen years ago.’

‘Oh, heavens, that’s the year we decorated,’ Minerva said, astonished.

‘I understand that the whole Arts and Crafts movement was about pushing back against industrialisation.’

Alex could sense immediately that Matthew was a born charmer; he was playing to her mother’s softest spots beautifully.

‘That’s right,’ Minerva admitted, clearly impressed by his knowledge. ‘Charles is not a big fan; you can hear my daughter shares his views and I simply don’t care that our neighbours, while adopting some of the styling, haven’t embraced it as warmly as I did. But you see I met William Morris, so influential in the movement, and I felt inspired by him. And frankly I love his creative mind and his artistic flair with textiles.’

‘He would be proud of this,’ Matthew assured her, gesturing to the room while gazing at the florid, marble-outlined mosaic in pretty pinks and greens of a nymph-like creature wreathed in flowers, turtle doves swooping about her. Then he adroitly changed topic. ‘And here of course you’re all far away from the problems in Europe.’ Matthew accepted what looked to be his second sherry from the crystal decanter that Lambton was offering. Her mother declined, her father accepted a top-up and Alex obliged by taking the tiny crystal glass aperitif.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ her father said. ‘And to all the brave souls over there.’

They shared a murmur of acclamation of the troops and into the slightly awkward silence that seemed to traditionally follow, Alex used the time to deliberately seat herself next to her mother. ‘So, Matthew, what brings you north?’

‘Business,’ he said matter-of-factly, before turning to her father. ‘My parents have mentioned you on several occasions as being a most delightful companion couple, Lord and Lady Frobisher, and I thought it only polite that I should pay my respects.’

‘Very glad you have too, young man, thank you,’ Minerva said and Alex heard the note in her mother’s voice that she had learned to recognise as a sign that her mother was formally interested in someone.

Here we go, she mused privately. Let the matchmaking begin. Alex’s creamy oloroso lost its sweetness and tasted suddenly cloying as she swallowed. She looked back at Matthew with an appraising gaze; he was not unpleasant in looks, if she ignored his narrowish shoulders and boyish expression. Her first crush had been on a man twice her own age and to this day she found older men more interesting than her peers. He certainly had a brightly open smile that he was shining on her mother in regular glances without taking his attention fully from her – it was quite a feat. ‘How long are you here?’ she continued, but only because he was watching her.

‘Oh, it’s fluid. I’m doing some work up here with Rowntree’s.’

She nodded. ‘It’s a nice time of year,’ she added, lamely.

‘I’ve invited Matthew to stay with us,’ Minerva said, smiling benignly.

Alex felt her mood slip further.

‘Yes, and jolly generous it is too, I must say,’ Matthew remarked . . . perhaps a fraction too gushily, Alex thought. ‘Thank you again; I didn’t expect it but I couldn’t refuse your mother. She was most persuasive.’

Alex put her sherry down. She wouldn’t be able to taste its normally bright sweetness again tonight. ‘Yes, she does like to get her way,’ she said.