Chapter The Third: In Which Anne Strallan Joins The Fray

"Don't think I didn't notice you bullying Anthony into conversation earlier, with Edith," Anne told Phillip as she sat before her mirror, fitting in her earrings. "Hardly the subtlest of manoeuvres, my darling."

Phillip looked up from his book; he was seated in the chair by the fire, reading as he waited for his wife to finish dressing - some Fabian tract that Nancy had brought into the house and strategically abandoned on the bedside table. Webb, or someone of that sort.

Not for the first time, he thanked the modest upbringing that had always precluded his wife's wanting a lady's maid - the thought of having his private conversations observed and spied on made his teeth itch. He hauled himself to his feet, coming to drop a kiss on the precise spot of his wife's shoulder where her dress met bare skin. Really, she was as beautiful and sharp now as she had been on the day he'd first laid eyes on her, forty-something years ago.

" Bullying?" he protested, mildly. "I was merely introducing two people of my acquaintance whom I thought might get along. You didn't exactly seem keen to separate them yourself."

Nancy turned on the dressing table stool to fix him with a please be serious look. "Because I didn't want Edith to feel as if she were - were third-wheeling on a family party! The poor girl gets enough of that at home."

Phillip's mouth twitched with disapproval at that thought. Not that it wasn't true, of course, and an open secret at that. "My dearest," he sighed, "can you honestly say you wouldn't like her as a daughter-in-law?"

Nancy gaped at him. "I'd love her as a daughter-in-law. Unfortunately, darling, there's a little thing called 'getting the bride's consent'. And the groom's, if it comes to it. Whatever would Edith have to say about it all, if she knew?" Briefly, Phillip's eyes flicked away from hers, and then back - but too late. Nancy knew him too well to miss that little tell. " Don't tell me that you actually raised the idea with her!"

"I wasn't dishonest about it," Phillip hedged. "But you know what Edith's like - took it all in good fun." At Nancy's huff of disapproval, he pressed on, "All I said was that we worried for her, and we'd be pleased to see her settled - all of which is true. And I refuse to believe that there's anything so wrong in that." Turning to the mantlepiece for his pipe and tobacco, he added in an undertone, " Someone needs to fret over her future, after all, and we could at least trust her to bring him up to the mark."

His wife pretended that she hadn't heard that; Phillip could tell it was a pretence by the way her mouth had tightened a touch at the edges, and he regretted it, just a little. Nancy's love for her first-born would always outweigh her commitment to the rules. Phillip knew that, just as he knew that he himself was quite the opposite: he showed his love by high expectations, of both his children, especially where the rules were concerned. Generally, it made them a good team - balanced and fair. Occasionally, though, it created some rather fraught situations.

"And what about Anthony?" Nancy wondered quietly. She'd reached his side without Phillip realising it, and now her slim hands were tugging his collar straight and smoothing down the lapels of his tailcoat. "What would he think of it all, if he could hear you… plotting to marry him off?"

" Anthony will do as he's told by those older and wiser than he is." It sounded thoroughly Victorian, Phillip knew. He even - God forbid! - was beginning to mimic his own father, which certainly wasn't anything to which he had ever aspired. Phillip didn't care a whit for any of that, though: after the - the end of Anthony's marriage, Nancy had done far too much fretting and weeping for the boy; he'd be damned if he sat and watched her do the same thing again.

At this moment, however, his wife looked and sounded thoroughly appalled, even when he pulled her close and nuzzled soft, wheedling kisses into her hair. "Phillip, you can't be serious! Dearest," - and no one but Nancy could make an endearment sound so much like a pejorative! - "it's nineteen-seventeen - you can't order your grown-up son to propose to a woman he's barely shared ten words with."

"I'm not ordering him. I'm holding him to a bargain," Phillip bit out. "There's a difference. When he - when he and Maude - you know - "

"Divorced?" Nancy threw the word at him like it was a physical object. It hit just as hard.

"Yes. That." Phillip gritted his teeth against the reflexive bite of shame that word always brought with it. "I told Anthony that I would support him, on the condition that I would choose his next bride for him. And I've chosen her."

"Phillip…" There was an awful lot of emotion in that one word. There'd been an awful lot of emotion all round in the Strallan family, over the last few years. Anthony always had been Nancy's child, as Diana had been his, and she worried for the boy. She was worried now, he knew, and cross at him for interfering, and at the same time grateful that he was because she was worried - and over and above and around all that was all the love she held for all of them. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed, just the slightest of pressures against his own.

"Yes?" he said eventually, when it seemed that his wife was not about to continue.

"Edith looks up to you," Nancy replied at last. "And I don't think you ought to be pushing her towards something that mightn't make her happy. She might worry that she'll… lose your friendship, if she refuses."

Phillip lifted her hand and kissed it. "I'll talk to her, the next time I see her. Unhappiness is… the very last thing I want for either of them."

Nancy's other hand dusted across his cheekbone, soft and affectionate. "I never thought anything else, my darling. Now, let's not keep Anthony waiting for his dinner, hmm?"

As they turned towards the door, Phillip grumbled, under his breath, "I only think that there's something… similar about them. They might… fit together well."

Nancy leaned up to peck his cheek. "They very well might. But don't let a nice idea override all objections they might have, all right? I'll talk to Anthony, make it clear that… that this isn't an order from the high command."

"As you like, my dearest." You understand him better than I ever have, in any case…

Really, Anne Strallan thought, raising children was an awful lot like raising plants. You put them in warm, secure surroundings, fed and watered them, trained them when they needed it, hoped they set down firm roots… and, ultimately, crossed your fingers that all would turn out well.

Anne stared out of the misty glass of her greenhouse, eyes unfocused, thinking. The greenhouse always had been her thinking place, and after Phillip's revelations of the previous evening, a place to think was what she was desperately in need of.

Sometimes, she wasn't entirely sure that she'd succeeded, with her children.

Diana had been practically feral, the despair of her father and the scandal of the county. Marriage to Archie Chetwood had, to a certain extent, helped to salvage her reputation - diplomats tended to have that effect on people. Added to which, travelling across the Empire with him seemed to have given Diana the taste of freedom for which she'd always seemed to be searching.

Anthony had been almost her polar opposite. A quiet child, he'd appeared for much of his youth to be the easy one: Head Boy at Harrow; a First from King's College, Cambridge in Modern Languages; a champion rower and unbeaten on the cricket field; a dutiful, loving son and a devoted, solicitous older brother. After university, he'd travelled in Europe, taken further study in Heidelberg, and then returned to put his education to good use. Anne knew better than to inquire too closely about her son's work, but there were, after all, many opportunities for an intelligent and discreet young man looking to serve his King and Country. Marriage had followed soon afterwards, to the charming and beautiful granddaughter of a Viscount, and Anne (although she had had her own misgivings about the girl) had hoped that Anthony would be happy. That she and Phillip had discharged their duties towards him, seen him safely to adulthood, and now had only to sit back and await the growing of their family.

Of course, it hadn't exactly worked out that way.

"Mama?" Anthony's voice shook his mother from her reverie. "Atwell said you wanted me."

"I did." Anne smiled up at him. "Pass me the trowel, will you, dearest?"

Anthony unhooked the tool from its accustomed place, hanging on a nail above his mother's work-bench, and handed it to her, handle first. As a boy, he and Diana had loved running up and down inside his mother's glasshouse, occasionally helping her with the plants, and being the first to taste her fruits and vegetables as they grew. Still, it was a place of peace and love - just like his mother herself.

He nodded over at the tray of soil she'd already prepared, and the packet of seeds. "What are we doing today, then?"

"Sowing peas," Anne replied crisply. "Horribly late, but they might just manage to over-winter in here, and then I can plant them out in the vegetable garden, come spring."

"Grandpapa's way of arranging things?" Anthony wondered. His mother had inherited her love of all things green from her own father.

She chuckled. "Dearest, when did your grandpapa ever arrange anything? He just threw seeds into the ground and waited with baited breath to see what happened to survive. We never knew what was going to be on the table from one month to the next!"

"Papa really wed himself to Chaos, didn't he?"

His mother flashed him a bright smile. "Yes, darling - and wasn't he lucky, too?"

" Extremely lucky. Was this all you wanted?" he wondered. "Assistance with the gardening?"

"Not all, no." Firmly, she used the trowel to turn over the soil in her trays, and started pressing seeds in with her thumb. "How's London, these days?"

"Busy, as always." Anthony turned and leaned against the counter, next to the trays. "I'm staying well out of trouble, though. You needn't worry."

Anne fixed him with a flat, old-fashioned look. "I always worry about you, my darling."

Anthony snorted out a laugh. "Might I remind you that I wasn't the child who was caught sea-bathing in the altogether with Lord Elleston's son at the age of sixteen?" Sometimes, it had been a blessing to have a sister as utterly uncontrollable as Diana had been. This was one of those times - or so he thought.

"No," his mother agreed with a smile. In apparent contradiction of that statement, she added, "You were even more difficult than that, my dearest boy. Anyway, it's nice to have you home, even for just a few days. Good to have the chance to introduce you to some people." And then the trap snapped firmly shut. "Talking of, what did you think of Edith?"

"Polite. Nice smile. Perceptive. Middle child, at a guess? Writes. I - " He stopped the endless stream of information at his mother's wide-eyed look of surprise, ducking his head sheepishly. "Sorry, Mama. I'm... wearing my work brain."

"No, darling, that's just your brain." His mother said that with infinite love. An unusual thing that, at least among people of their class: adoring your children for precisely who they were. Anthony supposed that he was lucky to have two parents like that, even if his mother were far more vocal about it. "Now, dear-heart, I shan't beat around the bush any more. Your darling father's got this ridiculous idea into his head that you and Edith ought to make a match of things and - "

"Yes."

The single word fell into the warmth of the greenhouse like a stone dropped into a lake. Anne didn't look up from her trays, but Anthony saw her hands freeze momentarily. "Yes… what, my darling?" she pressed, lightly.

"Yes, I… rather guessed that he had," Anthony clarified, tucking his uninjured hand into his pocket. Really, he was doing a remarkable impression of his adolescent self in a scrape. Well, nothing to be done about it now. "And… I've no objection."

"Is this that silly bargain you struck with him after Maude?" his mother asked, stripping off her gardening gloves and slapping them down with a cross snap on the workbench.

"Ah." Anthony winced. "He told you."

"Yes, he did." His mother faced him, hands on her hips. "And I'll make no secret of the fact that I think he was utterly wrong-headed to ever even consider asking anything of the sort of you."

" Mama…" Anthony tried, but his mother's eyes flashed a warning and he fell silent.

"Oh, don't 'Mama' me, Anthony Phillip Strallan!" She shook her head, slowly and despairingly, and Anthony almost felt a little sorry for his father. Anne Strallan didn't believe in wives not speaking their minds. But then, Phillip Strallan didn't believe in unfairness in marriage. So you've only yourself to blame, Papa. "One thing I shall never understand about you and your father is the way that you always seem to want to make Life horribly difficult for yourselves. Really."

Anthony exhaled, framing his next words very carefully indeed, lest he rouse her anger again. "I think you'll find that I made Life difficult for all of you when I divorced my wife, Mama. The very least I can do is… is try to repay you for the faith you showed in me."

"Darling, I'm your mother. No repayment necessary - especially when you weren't at fault in the slightest." Anthony didn't reply. We'll have to agree to disagree there, Mama. How can a husband whose wife begins an adulterous affair with his own junior officer not be at fault, somehow? Still, his mother pressed on firmly, in that voice which had ruled, unopposed, Anthony and Diana's nursery: "And I won't have your father bullying you into an arrangement for his own convenience."

"No. I know. But… let's just say, I'm not opposed to seeing where it might lead." Anthony swallowed, his face looking suddenly grey and drawn and terribly fragile. "I'm… Mama, I'm tired of being alone."

His mother's embrace was soft and welcoming and the seat of all safety and peace, just as it had been when he'd been five years old and nursing scraped knees. When they drew apart, his mother said nothing about his suddenly damp eyes. Thank Heavens. No man needs to be caught weeping by his own mother. And if he's unfortunate enough for it to happen, he doesn't need her to point it out.

"Then there's no more to be said. Only know that whatever you decide, I'll support you."

"These are nice, aren't they?" Anne held up the pair of shining, brown leather gloves for Edith's inspection.

"Very chic," Edith agreed. Around them, crowds of women flooded the counters of Grayson's Department Store.

"Then I shall buy them for you, and you can enjoy wearing them while you're driving that glorious motor-car of yours." Sweetly, before Edith could protest, Anne had turned to the shopgirl, beaming, and said, "I'll take them. Can they be wrapped?"

As they walked away, Edith sighed ruefully. "That's very generous of you. You'll let me buy lunch?"

"If you insist, my dear. But really, it's so nice to have a young woman to spoil, while Diana's away." Anne squeezed Edith's arm. "And Anthony's a darling - but sons just aren't the same as daughters and - Edith?"

Because Edith had stopped dead, staring wistfully at a young girl crowded around with what looked like three sisters and her mother as they giggled over lengths of lace, and bolts of ivory silk. Anne noticed the signs of wedding shopping, and Edith's stricken face… and tugged her gently away.

"I won't say 'never mind' or any of that ridiculousness, because it doesn't do the least bit of good, I know - unless the aim is to get one's eyes scratched out, that is." Edith gave a damp chuckle and Anne took heart from that. "But… one day, the hurt will be less. I promise."

Edith gave her a rather watery smile. "Yes, I'm sure. It's just… I start to think I'm… getting over him, and then every so often, I see things like that… Everyone else moving on with their lives, finding happiness and -" Edith cut herself off, as if unable to finish. "Well, shall we go and get some lunch?"

Anne gave her best bland smile, ignoring Edith's little confession, just as she knew her young friend wanted her to. "Yes, there's a terribly nice little French place just down the street - Phillip took me there last month."

As they emerged on to the cold street, Anne took Edith's arm, her brain working busily. Well, perhaps Phillip was right. It had occasionally been known to happen, after all. Edith was far too young and lovely to spend the rest of her life alone, and Anthony… well, Anthony was his father's son. And Phillip Strallan had never done marriage by halves.

Perhaps, Anne thought, this wasn't such a wrong-headed idea, after all.