Part one: 1944

CHAPTER ONE

Margaret comes to Cotteshaw 'I thought you said you had a car.' The horse at the front of the cart turned its head at the sound of the woman's voice. She was tall, with red-gold hair and white skin. Her mouth was painted a bright red, and she stared at the horse with green eyes.

The horse stared back at the woman and then, recognizing the man behind her, lifted its head and stepped forward. The woman moved back quickly. 'How horrible,' she said. The man put his hand on the horse's neck.

'Hello, Nellie, you dear old thing,' he said. He turned to the woman. 'Nellie will take us home in this cart, and our luggage will come in the other cart.' 'Carts? You said you had a car. A Bentley, you said.' 'I have. It was my father's.' 'Then why isn't it here to meet us?' 'Because it's a very expensive car to drive, and we can't use it in wartime. Come on, jump in the cart.' 'No.' 'Why didn't you tell me you were afraid of horses?' 'Im not. I don't like them.' Margaret Tillotson stared at her husband. The man who had put the luggage on the second cart came towards them. 'Everything all right, Henry?' he asked. He was a small man, in an open-necked shirt and grey trousers. He was a servant, Margaret supposed, but he called Henry 'Henry', not 'Mr Tillotson'. 'My wife was expecting the Bentley,' said Henry Tillotson, smiling. He turned to Margaret. 'This is Trask,' he said. 'We depend on Trask.' Trask smiled. 'Pleased to meet you.' Margaret moved her red lips a little, showing excellent teeth, but said nothing. Trask, looking at Henry, said, 'What about the station taxi? It'll be back in a minute.' 'Good idea, said Henry cheerfully. 'And how is everything?' he asked Trask. 'How are Pilar and Ebro?' 'They're fine.' 'Pilar is the Spanish girl I told you about,' Henry told his wife. 'Ebro is her son. He must be about four now.' 'Nearly six,' said Trask. 'Pilar is your servant,' said Margaret. 'Not exactly a servant, she's a refugee,' Henry said.

'But she cleans the house for you.' 'Well, yes, but nobody asks her to.' 'I shall,' said Margaret. When the taxi came, Henry held the door open, Margaret got in, and Henry closed it. Alone on the seat, Margaret said, 'But aren't you -?' 'No, I'm driving Nellie,' Henry said.

As the carts drove away and the taxi followed slowly behind them, Margaret stared at Henry's back in the cart, and her mouth narrowed to a thin red line. She made no reply to any of the taxi-driver's friendly conversation. The little road climbed into some hills, and then went down into a valley, passing fields full of sheep, and woods where the leaves were turning red and gold. 'It's pretty countryside round here,' the driver said. 'And there's the house. Cotteshaw. Is it as grand as you expected? I think it's a nice house. Not too big and not too small.' It was a lovely old house, built of light brown stone, and with walls covered in climbing roses.

Margaret noted that its doors and windows needed painting, and saw also that a young woman stood smiling on the front steps. She was short and square, with black hair and small black eyes. The child holding her hand looked just like her. They were not good-looking, but their happiness at seeing Henry lit their faces with beauty. 'Pilar!' Henry cried, 'and Ebro!' He hugged them both. Two dogs ran out and jumped excitedly around him. 'It's good to be home,' he said. 'Wonderful.' 'Your wife?' said Pilar. 'In the taxi,' said Henry, smiling. 'Come and meet her.' He opened the taxi door. 'Did you enjoy the drive?' Margaret Tillotson stepped out of the car.