''James,'' she shrieked. ''Heavens, it's so nice to see you. What a lovely surprise. What is my little brother doing here? I thought you were bashing the enemy in France with your regiment?''
''Hello, Emily. It's nice to see you too. Although I am not sure the term little brother applies anymore,'' he said, as he looked down from a great height onto the top of her head. ''I have some leave, and I thought I would come and see you and Peter.''
''Splendid, how long have you got?''
''I can stay this evening, after that I'm going to see Harriet before I have to go back.''
''And who is Harriet, may I ask? Do I hear wedding bells?'' Emily laughed.
''Not yet. Harriet Brown lives in Uppingham. She's the sister of a friend I was with at Sandhurst.''
''And is she pretty?''
''Prettier than I deserve. Oh sister, I don't have the vocabulary to express how much I love her.''
''Then I am pleased for you, for you both. Now let me ring for Joseph, and get us a cup of tea. I'm quite exhausted after my walk.''
James and Emily spent the afternoon talking and playing cards. Peter arrived home just before dark. The dogs made a great fuss of him at the door as Joesph took his coat from him. When he walked into the drawing room, he greeted James and pecked Emily on the cheek. She had been hoping he would kiss her on the lips. When James and Peter became locked in a debate about the war with Napoleon, Emily decided she would go upstairs and get ready for dinner.
When she entered the bedroom, she almost fell over Peter's night case. Joseph had left it in silly place, she would have a word with him, she thought. As she fiddled with her hair, her eyes kept looking at the bag. Each time, she ignored the voice in her head, until she no longer could. She got up from the dressing table, picked the bag up and placed it on the ottoman at the end of the bed. She undid the buckles, and looked inside. She pulled out the shirt Peter had worn the previous day, and put it to her nose.
''James would you fill my glass again please,'' Emily asked her brother, when they were sitting at the dinner table. He obliged and Emily downed her second drink, in one.
''Steady on, you'll get drunk drinking at that rate,'' James said.
''Well you're here, and I want to celebrate the fact. I do miss you, and I worry about you. I hope France will fall soon. That that will put an end to these ridiculous wars.''
''I'll drink to that,'' James said as he raised a glass.
When Peter raised his glass, he avoided Emily's eyes. Emily stared at him.
''Peter, we have been invited to a ball,'' she said.
''Where and why?''
''It's at the Sutherland's, their daughter will be twenty one.''
''Really? What a dreadful bore that will be.''
''Peter, you are no fun. It will be just what you need to cheer you up.''
''Cheer me up? There's nothing wrong with me.''
''You have had a face like a wet Sunday since you came home. Everybody will be there. All local society. I have already said we will go, so you must come.''
''Very well. If you insist.''
*****
Peter walked the same way as Emily had done the day before, only at the wooden bridge, he turned right and walked through the village. After he'd passed the last house, he turned right and took a short lane that led to Bead House. Peter was amazed to see so many workmen around the place. It must be costing a fortune, he thought. Peter had always found the thirteenth century mansion eerie. It was tucked back into a wood and it was damp and dark.
He walked up to the front door, which was wide open shouted, ''Sir John.''
Sir John appeared from a room at the back of the hallway. Peter noticed how hungover he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and when he came closer he could smell alcohol.
''Peter, splendid. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?''
''I want to talk to you about your investments.''
''Then you'd better come in.'' Peter followed him across the entrance hall, down a corridor and into a study. It was the most untidy office Peter had ever been in. The desk was piled high with old newspapers, and empty whiskey bottles. The fireplace hadn't been cleaned out for days, and a fat cat lay on the only chair in the room. Sir John shook the chair, and the cat reluctantly got up, stretched and jumped down.
''Please sit down, Peter.''
Peter looked at the hairs on the seat and declined. ''I need to talk to you about the investments we made on your behalf in the Beaufort Hotel Project.''
''What about it?''
''The stocks have lost seventy five percent of their value.''
Sir John slumped down into the chair. ''How the hell could that have happened?''