The cottage kitchen was lit entirely by candles. Wind tapped softly at the windows, and the Aga purred like a sleepy cat. Supper was in full swing, with tea towels draped over shoulders like ecclesiastical vestments and pewter plates groaning with food.
‘You look like you’re about to bless the roast rather than eat it,’ Christina said, eyeing Hamish’s neatly draped tea towel.
‘It’s historically accurate,’ he replied, nibbling on a thigh bone. ‘Tudor napkins were huge – practically bath sheets. Draped over the left shoulder so the right hand stayed clean for eating. You know if we wanted to be really accurate, we’d have to spear our food with a sharp knife. No forks, no spoons. Very sensible.’
‘I look like I’m about to dry the dishes with my own neck,’ Elspeth said.
‘Youareabout to dry the dishes,’ Christina said cheerfully.
Elspeth rolled her eyes, but her expression was soft. ‘I don’t know anyone else whose dad makes them eat like Anne Boleynon a school night.’
‘Anne Boleyn would’ve had a goose,’ said Hamish, reaching for the water jug – then pausing, hand hovering, before pouring Christina’s glass first. Automatic, once. Forgotten, lately. Unexpectedly warming tonight. Christina caught his eye as she accepted her refilled glass, and for a beat they held each other’s gaze. Something passed between them – tentative, fragile. A thread not yet knotted.
‘And six musicians.’ He added.
‘And possibly an executioner waiting outside,’ said Christina.
She felt something loosen in her chest – the easy pleasure of teasing him again, of landing a joke and watching it stick. She couldn’t pinpoint the last time she’d done that.
‘Sadly, we’re fresh out goose, musicians and executioners,’ Christina said, her voice softer than she’d expected.
Hamish smiled, the polite, automatic sort he’d give a colleague. He turned back to his plate.
Elspeth watched her father, her fork suspended midair. Christina saw her daughter’s smile fade slightly and set her own fork down with unusual care, feeling the weight of that fading smile pressing on her conscience.
After pudding – apple crumble and custard – Elspeth yawned, shoved her chair back with a scrape, and gathered her books. She headed off to do her homework upstairs but paused at the doorway, glancing back down. Her eyes moved between her mother and her father, as if measuring the careful space still separating their chairs.
Then she was gone, her footsteps heavy on the stairs.
Christina looked at Hamish. He was studying the candle flame, expression unreadable.
‘That was nice,’ she said carefully. ‘Tonight.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed without looking at her. ‘It was.’
They tidied the kitchen together, Hamish rambling on abouthis upcoming lecture, mostly to himself. ‘I hate leaving, but I can’t let St Andrews down at the last minute. I’ll be back tomorrow night, maybe we can have dinner together, just the two of us?’
‘I’ll cook something that will keep; in case your flight’s delayed,’ she suggested. And in case we finally get around to talking properly before we eat.
The wind tapped at the window again. And between them, the silence settled back into place like silt, until Hamish pulled on his coat and began gathering his notes. He tucked a paper into his satchel and suddenly stopped. ‘I nearly forgot. Percy rang while you were cooking. Someone’s given him the name of a handwriting expert in Taunton, he’s going to call her in the morning.’
Christina felt a buzz of excitement. ‘That’s dead brilliant.’
‘It is,’ he said.
She watched him slide a last page into his satchel, the candlelight catching on his spectacles. ‘Your lecture. Are you ready?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve just added something rather good, about Elizabeth I during Mary’s reign. How she survived by strategic avoidance and accommodation. She answered questions about her religion vaguely, dodged commitment, and appeared to embrace Catholicism. It saved her life – but, more importantly, it taught her the limits of avoidance. That lesson made her a more decisive, powerful queen later.’
For a moment, Christina stood still, a tea towel looped round her neck. ‘Sounds like she finally grew up.’
‘Painfully,’ he said. ‘But effectively.’
She pulled the towel off her neck, winding it in her hands. She so nearly told him everything then and there, imagined spilling her secrets out into their warm kitchen. But no, it was the worst possible timing. And she had her direction now. She only neededto follow it.
Hamish kissed her, quick and warm. ‘I’m only away one night.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ she said, and meant it. Tomorrow night they would talk about them. And after the auction, she’d tell him the whole truth.
