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Season in London?”

      She knew that her father had forgotten and she went on,

      “I missed my debut because, if you will remember it, Grandmama died and we were in mourning. But Mama promised that we would go to London next April and we would both be presented to the Queen.”

      “Yes, yes, of course, I do remember it,” Sir Frederick replied impatiently, “and I promise you shall have a ball in London and also one here when we return.”

      “You will be back with us for Christmas?” Amalita asked him. “Then, when the Festivities are over, you can write to your friends, telling them that we are coming to London. I know that you and Mama made a list.”

      “Of course, of course,” Sir Frederick agreed. “We will talk about it then. Just look after everything while I am away and see that the horses are well exercised.”

      “I will,” Amalita promised, “but we shall miss you, Papa.”

      She spoke wistfully.

      It had been a terrible year without her mother.

      Now, when they had only just been able to put aside the black gowns that she and Carolyn hated, her father was going away again.

      “You will be back for Christmas?” she asked again.

      Even as she spoke, she had the strange feeling that he was slipping, like quicksand, through her fingers.

      She could not hold on to him.

      “Yes – yes, of course,” Sir Fredrick said hastily. “It is just that your stepmother dislikes the cold and she will find it warmer in Paris.”

      The girls spent Christmas alone.

      Presents arrived, which they thought were very pretty and had obviously been extremely expensive.

      But it was certainly not the same as having their father with them.

      ‘He will be back by January’ Amalita told herself.

      Then they learnt that he had gone to Nice.

      From there he wrote to them saying,

      “It will be warmer in the South and I have rented a villa outside Nice, which has a fine view overlooking the sea and quite a large garden.”

      Because he had described it, Amalita thought that he was going to invite them to join him.

      But there was no mention of it and he merely urged them again to exercise the horses.

      Finally she wrote to him, begging him to come back and reminding him that it would soon be April.

      “You must, Papa, write to your friends in London,” she reminded him.

      She was so certain that he would return as soon as he received her letter that she started buying new dresses for herself and Carolyn.

      “All your best gowns must come from Bond Street,” she said. “There are only one or two shops in Worcester that seem to have up to date models and we cannot arrive looking like country bumpkins!”

      Carolyn laughed.

      “You could never look like one, darling Amalita and I am sure that all the smart people in London will admire your green eyes and your dark hair.”

      Amalita would have been very stupid, which she was not, if she had not realised that she was very striking to look at.

      Carolyn was as beautiful as her mother had been.

      Amalita was quite certain that the Social world would be bowled over by her.

      Time was getting on and she was growing more and more worried when there was no sign of her father.

      ‘He must arrive soon,’ she had kept telling herself.

      Now, having received the tragic news of his death as she held Carolyn against her, she felt the tears in her own eyes.

      She knew that she had not only lost her father, but he had somehow taken the future away with him.

      ‘What are we to do?’ she wondered frantically.

      Tea was announced by an old servant. He had been with them ever since her father and mother had come to live in Worcestershire.

      Because she could not bear to say the words, Amalita found it impossible to tell him that her father was dead.

      Instead they went into the drawing room.

      She sat down on the large sofa where her mother had always sat to pour out the tea.

      It had been served in the Georgian silver teapot that had belonged to their great-grandmother.

      When they were at last alone, Carolyn stammered in a choked voice,

      “W-what are we – going to do?”

      “There is nothing we can do,” Amalita said. “It says in the letter that Papa and our stepmother are buried in the Catholic Churchyard in Nice. The Police have asked what we would like put on the tombstone – if we are prepared to pay for one – and, of course, I must reply to them.”

      Carolyn did not say anything and after a short moment Amalita said,

      “I realise from this letter that Papa was not using his title. He did not wish to see any friends who were staying in Nice.”

      “I believe that he was – ashamed of – the woman he married,” Carolyn suggested.

      This was something that Amalita had known for quite some time.

      She had, however, thought it best not to express it in words.

      She had also been aware that Yvette was not the sort of woman her mother would have invited to the house at any time.

      From some of the things Yvette had said inadvertently Amalita was sure she had a somewhat strange past before she had married their father.

      “I would suppose,” Carolyn said in a doleful voice, “we cannot – now go to – London and all those – pretty gowns that we bought – will be wasted.”

      She gave a little sob before she added,

      “I was so – looking forward to – attending balls and – meeting new people. There is – no one round here – who is – interested in us.”

      Amalita knew that this was true.

      Their neighbours were all old and their children were already married and had left Worcestershire.

      Two of the young men the girls had known since they were small had joined the Army and were posted abroad.

      Another was perpetually at sea as he was a sailor.

      Carolyn was right.

      There was in reality no one for them to know of any interest or standing in the County.

      And yet they had been very happy while their father and mother were alive.

      “I am nearly eighteen,” Carolyn was saying, “and it is not fair that I should just stay here with nothing to do until I am as old as you.”

      She saw the expression on Amalita’s face and jumped up and put her arms round her neck.

      “That was unkind of me,” she said. “I know how you could not go to London as Grandmama had died and then Mama left us. But I really did think that Papa would come home. I suppose that horrid Yvette would not let him.”

      Amalita held her sister closer and she said,

      “I know what you are feeling now. It is what I have been feeling too for a long time.”

      “What can – we do about – it?” Carolyn asked with a little sob.

      “We will do something,” Amalita replied firmly and now her voice sounded very much like her father’s.

      Unexpectedly

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