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‘Surely you came across a Kitty in your time during the war, even after it?’

She pretended to think, then shook her head. ‘Not that I recall.’

‘Do you have the note with you?’ Matthew suddenly asked, blond head whipping to fix Harry with an earnest look as fresh inspiration apparently hit.

Alex felt as though the world was tipping and she was dizzily trying to keep her thoughts straight. She had the teacup to her lips and sipped, hoping it might steady her, but all she tasted was the salt of fear. She presumed Harry would have brought the note with him today; after all, that’s why they were supposed to be meeting. Or was it? She watched in terror as Harry began to check his pockets. As soon as Matthew saw the note he’d recognise her writing – it was too distinctive with its extra loops on any long letters and there were several of those in Kitty. She held her breath at Harry’s smile as he dipped into his inside jacket pocket.

Matthew regarded her with an indulgent smile. ‘Darling, you’re blushing.’

‘No, I’m not,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘I’m hot. This dining room is quite stuffy and the tea is piping, isn’t it?’

‘It’s why we like Betty’s,’ he said, raising his teacup as if in cheers.

‘I wish you’d told me you were back in the north,’ Alex suddenly said, trying to turn the focus back on her husband. ‘Why didn’t you?’

Unperturbed, he closed a hand over hers. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’

She wanted to believe him, she really did, but now there was too much doubt. As Matthew gave her his most friendly yet detached smile, she sensed he knew about her infidelity or at least had guessed at the forbidden intimacy that his wife shared with their guest. He was simply playing along, or why else would he ask to see the note? What on earth could he contribute to Harry’s search by looking at it? Guilt laughed at her from the twinkling chandeliers, reflected at her in the mirrors, danced around the steam of her tea.

She tried to disguise the anxiety as she shifted her glance to Harry, who was looking decidedly grim.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he was saying. ‘I must have left it at the guesthouse.’

‘Oh,’ Matthew said in a tone of feigned commiseration. ‘Pity.’

Harry shrugged. ‘No matter. It doesn’t help us much, does it, Mrs Britten-Jones?’

‘Do call her Alex, old chap, I insist,’ Matthew said before she could reply. ‘In fact, I’m pretty certain my wife would prefer you to call her Alex. She encourages all her closest friends to do so. Isn’t that right, darling?’

They made small talk about York, railways, business in the south and ultimately the weather, which was a sign to her to bring this ghastly meeting to a close.

She smiled thinly. ‘Well,’ Alex said, gathering up her gloves. ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m ready to escape this rather stifling atmosphere. And my sincere apologies, Harry, that we haven’t made much advancement in finding the author of your love letter.’

‘When do you head south?’ Matthew wondered, pushing back his chair.

Harry gave a slight shrug. ‘Tomorrow, I imagine. I haven’t been able to catch Kitty’s trail and perhaps that’s for the best; maybe it’s a mystery that will lure me north again sometime.’ He’d clearly caught on to Matthew’s duplicity.

‘What would you say to Kitty if you did find her, anyway?’ Matthew asked.

‘I wanted to tell her I’d found her sweetheart. This was always about Tom Fletcher, though, and bringing him home via his possessions first. Maybe I should leave Kitty as it occurs to me now that she may have resigned herself to losing Tom. No point perhaps in reopening a wound, especially if she’s moved on, met someone else. She may even be married.’

They both glanced again at Alex as she gave a choked sound. She waved away their attention, feigning a tickle in the throat.

‘Er, no, this is mine, old chap,’ Matthew said, as Harry reached for his wallet. ‘You’re in my city, my guest.’

‘Do you come to London often?’

‘Only all the time,’ Alex answered for Matthew, reaching for levity but not entirely disguising the arrow of accusation it carried. ‘He can’t stay away from the capital. Too many diversions.’

Harry smiled and she knew his smiles well enough now to know when it wasn’t genuine . . . just how he was smiling this moment. ‘Then let me extend an invitation. You’re most welcome at my club as my guest.’

‘Really? How generous.’ Matthew replied, only slightly mocking because she could tell he was interested. ‘Which one?’

‘White’s. It’s in Westminster.’

‘Oh, indeed, I know where White’s is,’ Matthew assured. Harry had impressed, it seemed.

‘One good turn deserves another,’ her lover continued conversationally, which surprised her because Harry was not the polite exchange type. And if she were honest, Harry had been staring at Matthew as if he were fighting the urge to wrap his large hands around her husband’s neck and throttle him. ‘Your father-in-law kindly invited me to his club a couple of evenings ago. He had probably intended to introduce me to you, but as it turned out that particular evening you were not there. I presumed you were still in London as your wife had mentioned but Charles was told by a waiter at the club that you were back in York.’