hour or two.”
Clarice barely regarded him. Her food was forgotten. She looked at Vita again, waiting.
Vita smiled in memory. “We simply sat by the fire and dreamed aloud of where we might travel if we were free to.”
“What do you mean ‘free’?” Clarice pressed. “Free in what way?” Her brows drew down, and she looked frightened and angry. “What sort of freedom are you talking about?”
“Nothing specific,” Dominic interrupted, rather too quickly. The conversation was becoming uncomfortable. An innocent evening was being misconstrued into something quite different. He could feel his face warm at the thought. And it surprised him how painful it was that Clarice, of all people, should be the one to misunderstand. “Only a little daydreaming,” he rushed on. “After all, one cannot simply throw away all one’s responsibilities and go careering off to Persia, or Kashmir, or wherever one has in mind. It would be expensive and probably dangerous …” He trailed off, looking at her face.
“And you spent all evening talking about it?” she said blankly. Her eyes were full of misery.
“And similar sorts of things,” Vita agreed. “My dear, you should not allow it to disturb you. Why should it? It was only a little happiness in the midst of all our troubles. We must remain as close as we can to each other. I cannot begin to say how grateful I am to Dominic for his understanding and the courage and the strength he has shown throughout this nightmare. For a while it was a perfect companionship. Is it strange that I should be happy to share beautiful ideas with him?”
Clarice swallowed. She seemed to have to force herself to speak.
“No …”
“Of course not.” Vita reached over and patted her hand. It was a familiar gesture, gentle, comforting, and yet oddly condescending as well, as if Clarice had been a child, on the periphery of things.
Dominic was suddenly acutely uncomfortable. Somehow the conversation had run from his control, but it was impossible to cancel the misimpression without churlishness. To say it had meant nothing personal would be absurd. It would be denying something no one but Clarice had thought. It would embarrass Vita, and that would be inexcusable. It must be the last thing she had thought.
Clarice pushed her plate away, the toast half eaten.
“I have things to do. Letters to write.” And without further excuse she went out, closing the door behind her with a sharp snap.
“Oh dear,” Vita said with a sigh. She gave a quick little shrug. “Was I indiscreet?”
He was confused. It was not what he had expected her to say, and momentarily he could think of no answer.
Vita was looking at him with a faint flicker of amusement and tolerance. “I am afraid she is a little jealous, my dear. I suppose it had to happen, but it is most unfortunate it should be now.”
“Jealous?” He was lost.
Now she was really amused. It was plain in her eyes.
“You are too modest. It is one of your virtues, I know, but can you really be so blind? She is extremely … fond of you. She is bound to feel … excluded.”
He did not know what to say. It was ridiculous. It had not been a romantic evening—how could it be? Vita was Ramsay’s wife! At least she was his widow—of barely a couple of days! Clarice could not be so foolish. She had once suggested that Dominic was in love with Vita, but that had been a desperate and totally flippant attempt to distract them all from blaming her father for Unity’s death. No one could have thought it anything but a joke in extraordinarily poor taste. That was all it was. Wasn’t it?
“Oh, I’m sure …” he began. Then he was not sure. He started to rise to his feet. “I must go and explain to her.…”
Vita reached across and took his hand. “Don’t! Please?”
“But …”
“No, my dear,” she said softly. “It is better this way, believe me. You cannot alter the way things are. It is kinder to be honest. Leave her to grieve for her father the way she needs to. Later she will understand. They all will. Just be true to yourself; never fail in that, never waver.”
He felt confused. Somewhere he had made a mistake, and he was not sure where; only there was a deepening fear in him that it had been a serious one.
“If you think so,” he accepted, loosening himself from her hand. “I had better go and start making the