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to be gone from the house.

      Freddie nodded. ‘How’s Bertie?’ he asked.

      Veronica’s knife and fork stalled halfway up to her mouth.

      Freddie plunged the needle of the corkscrew into the wine bottle and then started winding.

      ‘Fine,’ she said dismissively and then she asked quietly, ‘When did you last see him?’

      Was it her imagination or did Freddie clench his jaw? He poured wine into both their glasses and then his next words cut through the room. ‘At your wedding.’

      Veronica’s eyes widened. The wedding. The wedding she never wanted to think about ever again. ‘You’ve not seen him since then? Almost five years? That can’t be true.’

      Freddie nodded. ‘We’ve spoken of course. But not often. He likes to know I’m not messing it all up at the factory. But communication has been … sporadic. One year has just drifted into the next. And here we are, five years on and the village is being requisitioned and your house is being taken.’

      Veronica looked away at the dark wood panelled walls, now devoid of any portraits.

      ‘It’s not my house,’ she said quietly.

      Freddie didn’t know then. He had no idea what Bertie was like now; the change that had slowly ravaged him. Although, Veronica supposed she had no real idea if Bertie had always been so violent, so full of hate. Perhaps he had but he had overtaken her senses when she’d met him. It was in the darkest moments of Bertie’s behaviour that she forced herself to remember how he used to be. She’d been swept along in the wake of Bertie’s forceful presence and hadn’t had time to fall in love with him. His intensity had taken her breath away and she now wondered frequently whether the signs of madness had always been there, under the surface. Had he simply hidden them away? Perhaps she was just blind and hadn’t wanted to see the start of the behaviour that would eventually destroy their marriage and almost kill her. She’d never know now.

      A car crunched on the gravel and Veronica’s head rose. She stiffened. Bertie. There were no other cars in the village. Petrol rationing had put paid to that. Bertie, as an MP, believed it was necessary to the war effort that he swan around in his Morris Eight.

      Veronica sat rigidly and pushed her lips one against the other, creating a thin line. She heard Anna run down the hallway to open the front door.

      Anna shouldn’t still be here. Veronica was supposed to be on a train to London and her new life, such as it would be. She had made Anna promise she’d leave Bertie’s employment the very moment Veronica left, come what may. Anna had promised that she wouldn’t stay in the house alone with Bertie. Veronica knew Bertie’s sexual predilections and while, so far, they did not stretch to the staff, if Veronica had gone and Anna stayed, it would only be a matter of time. Veronica couldn’t bear to think about the poor young girl failing to fight Bertie off.

      But Veronica was still here and so was Anna. And now so was Freddie. The nightmare was only getting worse.

      The front door banged and she could hear muffled voices. Moments later, the dining room door was thrown open and Bertie walked in.

      Freddie tossed his napkin on the table and stood, moving towards his brother and greeting him warmly. Bertie smiled thinly by way of reply and reciprocated the handshake. He stood beside Veronica.

      ‘Not going to kiss your husband?’ he asked.

      Veronica stood and he pulled her towards him, placing his lips firmly on hers and clasping her around the waist. Veronica was stunned. This wasn’t for her benefit. Bertie pushed his lips harder onto hers until it started to hurt. She made a small noise and Bertie kissed her harder to mute her. Freddie shifted uncomfortably next to them.

      ‘Well,’ Bertie said to Freddie when he’d finished embracing Veronica, ‘my reprobate brother has returned.’

      Freddie moved back towards his seat. ‘As commanded.’

      ‘Good. All your things are in the attic. Take what you want and anything you want destroyed by the bloody army you can leave here.’

      ‘Understood.’ Freddie sat down again.

      ‘Welcome back, little brother,’ Bertie said. He looked down at Freddie’s wine glass and picked it up, drained it and placed it back on the table.

      Freddie made no comment but waited until Bertie had turned before he rolled his eyes.

      ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?’ Bertie turned to Veronica.

      As Veronica opened her mouth to speak, Bertie cut in, ‘It was a bloody disaster,’ he said. ‘There’s not a damned thing we can do about this requisition order. We leave as planned.’

      ‘I see.’ Veronica stared at her food.

      ‘Joining us for lunch?’ Freddie suggested when the awkward silence grew.

      ‘No. I ate. I’ll be in my study.’

      A few moments later Bertie’s study door slammed shut.

      ‘The requisition has put him on edge?’ Freddie asked and then stopped talking as another young woman came into the room to remove their empty plates. She stopped short and stared at him.

      ‘Rebecca, Sir Albert’s brother will be staying with us for the night,’ Veronica said.

      ‘Very good, m’lady,’ Rebecca said. ‘Cook has custard and stewed fruit she can offer if you’d like pudding?’ she asked, not meeting their gaze. She removed their plates.

      ‘Not for me,’ Freddie grinned. ‘I’m full. I’ve not eaten this well in a long time.’

      The maid glanced back at him and took in his features with a shocked expression on her face. Freddie smiled back uncertainly at her scrutiny.

      ‘No thank you, Rebecca,’ Veronica replied. ‘Please tell Cook that was delicious, as usual.’

      Rebecca turned and left.

      ‘Well,’ Freddie said. ‘I’m going to take a look in the attic while the light’s still good. See what I’ve left behind from my misspent youth.’

      ‘Freddie?’

      ‘Mmm?’

      ‘About the crying.’ Veronica felt unable to meet his gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

      He crouched beside her and glanced down the hall towards Bertie’s study. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he whispered.

      She could feel his presence next to her as he crouched. Affability and warmth emanated from him. She’d always wondered what it would be like when she saw him again. After five long years being married to Bertie, she’d tried not to think about Freddie. It was too painful. She had tried not to regret the way it had all ended between them. It had been for the best. She’d been devastated when she’d learnt he didn’t love her, when she’d discovered he was casually playing her off against other women. But it felt as if her heart hurt even more now he was here than it had ever done in the long absence since she’d wed Bertie.

      She tried to swallow down the uprising combination of guilt and love that she always felt when she thought of Freddie. She couldn’t help it. His head was almost level with hers and she risked a glance at him. The kindness in his eyes only served to wound, not to heal. She’d missed him, more than she cared to admit, but she’d have given anything for him not to be here now.

      Veronica brought herself back to the present, back to the dire situation she’d unleashed upon herself, and tried seeing things through Freddie’s eyes. To the untrained eye, Bertie’s behaviour looked relatively normal. It was the most horrifically believable act. He’d been playing it for years. Freddie would never believe her if she told him the truth.

      Veronica shook her head and looked down at the floor.

      ‘I can’t force you,’

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