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see you. Bye.'
    Sitting on the seat in the cloistered way outside
the hall, which had once been the chapel, Clio
thought about Peter. A few late roses still bloomed
on the high stone walls; Lion, Piers' golden retriever,
lay somnolent on the cobbles. Clio relaxed.
The murmur of conversation and occasional bursts
of laughter, Lizzie's voice reciting something and
then breaking off short – all seemed to come from a
great distance away. Much more real to her was the
idea of Peter: his crisp fair hair standing up like an
animal's fur as he came out from the shower; his
long strong legs and broad brown hands with the
nails always clean and pink as if they'd just been
scrubbed. She could imagine his arm along her
shoulders as he sat beside her, his breath against
her cheek, the smell of his skin, and the other
million scents and images and sounds that meant
Peter to her.
    The shutter in her mind, behind which all
thoughts of Louise and the children were locked,
lifted a fraction. She heard Louise's confident
drawl and the higher, fluting voices of his children.
She remembered them arriving unexpectedly at
the office, during a trip to London to buy school
uniforms, and how surprising it had been to see
him so natural and easy, joking and letting his
small son twirl in the big leather chair, before he
whisked them all off to tea without a glance in her
direction. Louise, darkly glamorous, had nodded
to the members of Peter's staff with all the pleasant
indifference of one brought up with servants,
seeing them as so many useful appendages, rather
on the level of the computers and the telephones:
necessary but uninteresting. He'd made no
mention of it afterwards – and neither had Clio.
    A door opened, the voices came closer; the
meeting was breaking up. Clio sat forward on her
bench, checking automatically for her car keys and
glancing at her watch: plenty of time for the train.
She took a breath and straightened her shoulders.
Perhaps tomorrow Peter would be on his way to see
her.
    'I hope you'll be around when I come down to see
Hester again,' Jonah said, as they waited on the
platform for the train from Plymouth.
    'So you'll definitely be back?'
    'Of course. I'm hoping that I'll be able to
persuade my mother to talk about the war. I think
that Dad being ill has changed certain perspectives
for her and I know that sometimes she's a bit
lonely. It's not easy being a carer. Unlike your
parents, mine have been very sedentary: living
in one place for all their married lives, very
dependent on each other and a few close friends. I
think Mum's feeling vulnerable and she might be
more ready to talk about the past. Perhaps it's time:
she wouldn't have mentioned Hester otherwise. I
feel it is.'
    'I hope you will come back,' said Clio impulsively,
'but perhaps we can meet up in London sometime.'
    He looked pleasantly surprised. 'I thought you
were . . . uh, you know?'
    'I still spend time with my friends,' she answered
rather crisply. 'Shall I give you my mobile number?'
    He dug in his pocket for his mobile, tapped in
her number with a pen and said, 'Ah, here's the
train.'
    His travelling companions joined them, bags
were collected and farewells were said.
    'Thanks for taking me to meet Hester,' Jonah
said, leaning from the window for a moment. 'It's
meant a lot.'
    Walking back to the car, Clio checked her mobile
for voice mail. Peter's message was short but clear.
    'Catching the nine fifteen from Paddington. Will
be arriving at Tiverton Parkway at eleven o'clock.
Returning to London late afternoon Wednesday.'
    She made a note of the train times, telephoned
Hester to tell her that Peter would be with them in
twenty-four hours and got into the car.
    As she drove up the dual carriageway past
Tiverton, she was already making plans for the next
day: pick Peter up and take him home to lunch at
Bridge House, then perhaps a trip over the moor to
the sea and back in time for tea. In the evening it
might be a good idea to go out to dinner, just