Emma shook her more forcefully. ‘Look at me, Mrs Fairley. Look at me.’ Emma’s eyes blazed hard green light. ‘Yer must get control of yerself. If yer don’t, there’s bound ter be trouble. There’ll be a right scandal, Mrs Fairley!’

Adele heard her dimly, above the sound of splintering crystal that reverberated in her head. Slowly the shattering and tinkling began to ebb away, and she saw Emma more clearly as her eyes became focused and lost their cloudiness. Now Emma’s voice was penetrating her tired mind. It was strong. ‘I’ll be there, if yer needs me, ma’am. All yer have ter do is signal me during dinner, if yer needs owt. Or ring for me later. I’ll see yer all right. I will! I’ll look after yer, Mrs Fairley. I promise!’ Emma said, her tone cajoling yet firm.

Adele blinked and sat up with an abruptness that was almost violent. What had Emma been saying? That she was the mistress of this house…the Squire’s wife. Yes, that was what she had said. And it was true. Adele passed her hand over her brow and it was a gesture that bespoke her confusion and weariness and despair.

‘Shall I fetch yer a drink of water, Mrs Fairley?’ asked Emma, relieved that a semblance of comprehension, of normality, was returning to Adele’s face.

‘No, thank you, Emma,’ Adele whispered, looking directly at her. ‘I don’t know what happened. My head began to ache again. Yes, that was it, Emma. Another of my dreadful headaches. They are so debilitating, you know.’ She smiled faintly. ‘But it has passed, thank goodness.’

‘Are yer sure, ma’am?’ Emma inquired solicitously, studying her closely.

‘Yes, yes. And I must go downstairs!’ She stood up shakily and moved to the cheval mirror. Emma hurried after her.

‘Now just look at yerself, Mrs Fairley. See how beautiful yer are,’ Emma pointed out, adopting an admiring and reassuring voice, in an effort to bolster Adele’s self-confidence. ‘The Squire will be right proud of yer, ma’am. He will that.’

Oh! My God! Adam! She must go down there and conduct herself with propriety and dignity and grace and charm; otherwise Adam’s wrath would come tumbling about her head, and that she could not survive. She regarded her own image in the glass, and suddenly she saw it objectively, as one views a stranger. That image was of a stunningly beautiful woman. Then she remembered. She was supposed to hide behind the mask of her beauty, so that everyone would be deluded, including Adam.

Her smile wreathed her face with loveliness and her luminous eyes sparkled with silvery lights. She smoothed the skirt of her gown and swung around lightly. ‘I’m ready, Emma,’ she said sweetly.

‘Shall I come with yer, Mrs Fairley?’

‘No, thank you. I can manage on my own,’ Adele answered with absolute sureness. She glided through the adjoining sitting room and out into the corridor, just as the porcelain lions’ clock on the mantelshelf struck the hour.

The dinner had been a tremendous success so far, much to Adam Fairley’s profound relief and satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, smiling inwardly, and surveyed his guests and the glittering scene that spread out before his eyes.

The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, almost jovial, and everyone appeared to be at ease. It had been a long time since Adam had heard the murmurous sounds of genial chatter and gaiety reverberating against these old walls, and it filled him with a sense of such gratification he was positively startled. At the beginning of the evening he had been suffering from extreme nervousness. It was not unnatural for Adam to feel apprehensive, in view of Adele’s past performances, and whilst he had been able to conceal his fears, he had been uneasy, all of his senses alerted for trouble. But as the dinner progressed without incident, these feelings were lessening and he had started to unbend. From time to time he would marvel that the malaise of his spirit, which had slowly been diminishing in the last few weeks, had now, this night, miraculously disappeared. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he felt unfettered and even carefree.

He lifted the crystal glass of champagne Murgatroyd had just refilled and sipped it slowly, savouring its sparkling iciness. The food had been delicious, the wines excellent, and Murgatroyd and Emma had executed their duties with aplomb, as though they were a seasoned team accustomed to handling such a complicated and elaborate dinner every night of the week. He realized this achievement was no accident. It had been accomplished only with Olivia’s expert planning, and her perfect taste was apparent everywhere.

Adam looked down the long expanse of white linen, until Adele was in his direct line of vision. He had watched her closely all night and her behaviour had astounded him. She was charming and attentive to their guests and, on the surface at least, she seemed like the woman she had been years ago. And she looked magnificent. She was flirting outrageously with Bruce McGill, who appeared to be fascinated, much to Adam’s wry amusement. He suspected there was something of the actress in Adele. Certainly she had made a grand enough entrance. Bruce had arrived earlier than the other guests, in order to conclude their business, and they had been strolling across the hall when she had materialized at the top of the staircase. Aware that they had noticed her, she had paused histrionically at the central landing, clinging for a second to the newel post, and then she had floated down the main staircase like Aphrodite descending from the heavens. Bruce, his mouth slightly agape, had been momentarily speechless and, to Adam, he had looked like a stagestruck schoolboy. That expression still lingered on the Australian’s face. Seated at Adele’s left, he was giving his rapt attention to her and Adele’s tinkling laughter drifted down to Adam on the warm air. He narrowed his eyes, observing her closely. For all her beauty there was something oddly removed about her. The Snow Queen. Never to be touched.

Adam’s eyes swivelled to Olivia, who was seated at the centre of the table. She had that special self-assurance so often found in upper-class English women, who were always at ease and in command of themselves and the situation, whether seated on a horse or at a dinner table. She looked just as magnificent as Adele, but in a less brittle way. Her kingfisher-blue silk gown was elegant, and provocatively low-cut, although not quite as daringly so as Adele’s. A choker of sapphires made a ring of blue fire around her neck, the same stones cascaded in linked drops from her small ears, and matching bracelets entwined those superb arms. She was listening quietly to her dinner partner, and in repose her face was serene. Sleeping Beauty. Waiting to be awakened, Adam said to himself, instantly astonished that such an extraordinary thought should have entered his mind.

He caught Olivia’s eye. She was smiling at him warmly and she inclined her head towards the dining-room door. He nodded, understanding that she thought the meal should now be terminated.

Adam gestured to Murgatroyd, who hastened to his side. ‘I assume you have put out liqueurs and cigars in the library, Murgatroyd.’

‘Oh, yes, Squire. The best French cognacs, port, and Bénédictine. Also the usual Scotch and Irish. Mrs Wainright instructed me to put a tray of drinks in the drawing room for the ladies as well.’

‘Excellent, Murgatroyd.’ Adam turned to the female guests seated nearest to him. ‘I know you will excuse us if we gentlemen leave you to your own devices for a short while,’ he said with a smile. He pushed back his chair and looked around the table. ‘Shall we adjourn, gentlemen?’ he continued, standing up. With murmured assents the other men followed suit and filed out of the dining room, chatting amongst themselves.