There was no escaping Dickon in that house. My grandmother and Sabrina talked of him constantly and whenever I was alone he contrived to find me. When I went riding he would be beside me. I knew what his purpose was and I guessed it would be the same with any reasonable young woman. Dickon knew exactly what he wanted and he expected everyone to fall in with his wishes.
Apart from ambitions he had been strongly attracted by me and I wondered whether he had been to Isabel; and being Dickon, he assumed that he was irresistible and it would only be a matter of time before he overcame my scruples and we indulged in a love-affair.
I was aware of this and so was my mother; no doubt she had memories about her first meeting with my father which had taken place near Enderby. I was determined not to be a partner in Dickon’s search for temporary satisfaction. Sabrina and my grandmother believed of course that he was merely playing the host in his charming, gracious way, but to me, from our first day, his intentions were clear.
After spending most of the morning with my grandmother I went down to the stables in the early afternoon and asked one of the grooms to saddle a horse for me, which he did. I was looking forward to a nostalgic afternoon, visiting the places I remembered from all those years ago and I would remind myself of what a happy life I had found in France. I loved Charles—with reservations, it was true. I saw his faults. I did not believe that he was always faithful to me; I had, in some measure, accepted the marital conventions of my new country and I realized that the basis of a happy marriage, to the French, meant one in which a woman did not probe too deeply into her husband’s extramarital relationships. Some women might have said that what was in order for men might be for women too and some I knew carried their beliefs into practice. But I did see that there was some point in inflicting a more rigid code on women for the simple reason that romantic interludes could result in children.
Lisette and I had discussed the matter frequently. She said it was unfair. There should be one law and one only and that should apply to both men and women. If a child was the result, the man who had fathered it should be named since the woman had no alternative but to be recognized as the mother. But no. It was not like that. How many men had their clandestine relationships, resulting in difficulties for the partner in them, and escaped the shame, humiliation and practical difficulties of having a child born out of wedlock?
Lisette could argue fiercely about the matter. I always enjoyed these discussions and we usually made a habit of taking opposite sides so that we could get the most out of the discussion.
Now I thought of Lisette and considered how amused she would be to see Dickon pursuing me.
I could almost hear myself talking to Lisette. Yes, I would say, he does attract me. He always did … I think more than anyone I ever knew. More than Charles? Well, Charles did too. There is a similarity about them. They both have that swaggering attitude to life and see themselves as the all-conquering male and the strange thing is that while I resent it strongly, I am attracted by it. I am determined to resist submission and yet at the same time I enjoy being conquered.
It was a pity Lisette had not come with us. She would force me to be absolutely frank about my feeling for Dickon.
Right from the first I was exhilarated. It was a battle between us from which both he and I were determined to come out victorious. He saw himself as the irresistible seducer; I, as the woman who, if tempted, was not going to sink her pride so deeply that she forgot her marriage vows and the fact that this man had jilted her in favour of a great property.
On that afternoon I had not gone very far when I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and looking over my shoulder was not at all surprised to see Dickon.
‘Riding alone?’ he said. ‘That won’t do.’
‘I was finding it very pleasant.’
‘But so much more so with an interesting and charming companion who knows the countryside well.’
‘Your assessment of your character is your own, of course, and the countryside is not altogether unfamiliar to me. Remember I lived here once.’
‘Don’t remind me, Lottie. My life took the wrong turning when you went away.’
‘The wrong one? To Eversleigh, to the Bank, is it? … the life at Court, the fingers in pies? Oh, Dickon, how can you be so ungrateful to the fate which brought you all these good things!’
‘I am not ungrateful. I am just telling you that the very thing which would have made my happiness complete was denied me.’
‘You look contented with life, Dickon. I would forget the extra flavouring and thank God for your good fortune.’
‘I missed you, Lottie.’
‘One does miss people sometimes when they go away.’
‘You went to France for a holiday and stayed there.’
‘And you came to Eversleigh. It was yours; the dream of your life—or the chief one at that time—come true. What more could you ask?’
