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occasionally tearful. When Selina came, he thought that she was Hilda and he’d mumbled, ‘Forgive me, my dear. Forgive me,’ over and over, until Maudie could bear it no longer and went down to the kitchen to make some tea.
    Selina had come downstairs looking smug. ‘Poor Daddy,’ she’d said. ‘Of course, Mummy was his first, true love. I think he felt guilty quite often actually, for betraying her memory,’ and Maudie, worn out with disturbednights, frustrated and unhappy, had lost her frail hold on her temper and had shouted at her. ‘Don’t be so bloody dramatic!’ she’d cried—and Selina had raised her eyebrows and gone away without her tea.
    ‘Don’t take any notice,’ Daphne had pleaded, when Maudie told her. ‘He’s away with the fairies. It means nothing. He’s far too confused and sick to remember anything sensibly. You simply mustn’t let it upset you, Maudie. Selina will make the most of it, of course. Oh, how upsetting this must be. If only I could be with you.’
    ‘He talks about you,’ Maudie had said, ‘and Emily, too. He remembers everyone but me.’
    ‘Oh, darling.’ Daphne had sounded near to tears. ‘Oh, Maudie, don’t be hurt. I simply cannot bear it. Not being so far away. Please don’t.’
    ‘No, no I won’t.’ Maudie had tried to contain herself. ‘It’s just that wretched Selina enjoying every minute of it. I’m fine, honestly …’
    What a comfort Daphne had been, even three thousand miles away, but the fact remained that it was difficult to forget those terrible months, to remember the earlier years with Hector.
    ‘I must not be bitter,’ she muttered, turning the car on to the Moreton-hampstead road. ‘I must try to be balanced about it. If only I could understand his guilt. Why feel guilty about marrying again once Hilda was dead? Of course, Selina was the real problem. The mistress of emotional blackmail. She kept his guilt alive. And what happened to that money? Damn! I will not
do
this.’
    Deliberately she brought to mind the happy times before he was ill: dinner parties when Hector was at his sparkling best; holiday foursomes with Daphne and Philip; quiet days at The Hermitage. She delved further back: nights of love; snatched weekends away from the crowd; dinner for two at their favourite restaurant. It had been so easy to distract him, then, to make him laugh, to create a shared intimacy. She’d been confident that she could hold him, that his love could withstand Selina’s undermining, and it wasn’t until the boys were born that the cracks began to appear. With Patricia so far away, Selina held all the cards in the grandchildren game—and Hector liked children. Selina was quick to take advantage.
    ‘Darling, don’t touch Maudie’s skirt with those sticky fingers, you know she doesn’t like it.’ ‘Could you hold Chris, Daddy? He’ll be off to sleep in a minute and I know Maudie’s so nervous with babies.’ ‘Paul couldn’t help spilling his juice on the sofa, Maudie. He’s only three, afterall. Don’t cry, Paul, Maudie’s not really cross. She just doesn’t understand little boys.’
    She wouldn’t have minded if Hector could only have seen through it, realised it was simply the latest version of the feud. Her lightest remarks, however, were greeted with a cool silence and the boys, growing noisy, spoiled, demanding, were encouraged to treat Maudie as an outsider. She had few defences, no natural ease with children, no maternal instinct: not until Posy.
    It was Patrick who had brought Posy over one Saturday afternoon, whilst Selina and the boys were at a party. He’d dumped her into Maudie’s lap and gone off with Hector to look at some painting or book. Posy had lain contentedly, crooning to herself, staring up at Maudie with wide honey-brown eyes: Hector’s eyes. Her dark hair crisped about her head in peaks, like Hector’s when he’d just come out of the shower. She made unintelligible Posy noises and smiled