Last night she had dreaded going home for many complicated reasons, to do with whether she could ever live apart from Gerard, away from Combe Chalcot; now she dreaded it only because Carlotta had rung to say that the old labrador Amelia was very ill indeed. Finola did not want to see her, and to be obliged to cope. She had been angry at such a thing’s happening to Amelia at this particular moment. Finola did not stop for long, for she soon grew restless and foolishly tearful. She took the last six miles of the familiar road at forty miles an hour, though Gerard never went above thirty, and when she reached the house she did not bother to take the car round to the stable yard. As she had expected, the hall was dark and empty and no sound could be heard. She put her bag down on the long table and went down the gun-room passage, where she heard the chink of teacups and the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. Finola remembered that they would all be there: Carlotta, Sarah, Mrs Locke the charwoman and Mainwaring as well, for it was his day to come up to the house and clean the silver.
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