The Moon Field. Judith Allnatt

then was light and general and Violet longed for the more personal discussions that she and Edmund shared when they could. They had exchanged opinions on music and books, Edmund playing her Chopin’s nocturnes and lending her his well-thumbed copy of poems by Yeats, which she loved and discussed with him at length. They had moved through personal anecdotes about school and university to confidences on deeper matters. Edmund told her of his belief that the old order must change, and his interest in the law as an instrument of reform to deal with working-class poverty, before social turmoil should get out of hand. Violet confided her worry about her mother and her frustration at being powerless to use her education or to affect anything beyond her own home.

      For the latest outing, Elizabeth had invited a mixed group of ten and decided that they should motor out into the countryside. Violet, hopeful of some good views, took her camera with her. After parking and walking half a mile, the men carrying the wicker hampers and the ladies the rugs, they settled on a spot under an ash tree overlooking pasture, with a small stream leading into woods and in the distance the glitter of the sea. After picnicking, some of the party wanted to walk further and some to simply loll and enjoy the view. Elizabeth and Titus stayed behind for a few minutes and then strolled down to the stream; Violet and Edmund sat on, chatting, surrounded by rumpled rugs and tablecloths strewn with spirit lamp and kettle, hard-boiled eggs and Dundee cake.

      ‘If you could do anything at all with your life,’ Edmund said, lying back with his hands behind his head, ‘what would you do?’

      ‘Anything at all? Do you mean regardless of the fact that I’m a woman?’ Violet asked dryly.

      Edmund looked up into the green and blue of leaves and sky above him. ‘Anything.’

      ‘Travel,’ Violet said, hugging her knees and looking out at the distant line of the sea. ‘I’d explore and take wonderful pictures of Alps and ice floes and … Oh, I don’t know … temples and pyramids, desert sands … I’d like to capture it all and bring it back for others to see.’

      Edmund sat up, leaning on one elbow, and looked at her with interest. ‘What would you do with all the pictures?’

      ‘Publish them,’ Violet said seriously. ‘Sell them to magazines like the National Geographic.’ She paused and fiddled with the fringe of the rug, waiting for Edmund to laugh. ‘I suppose you’ll think me a suffragette now,’ she made light of it. ‘Just a silly dream, I know.’

      ‘Not silly at all,’ Edmund said. ‘I think it’s rather admirable,’ and he leant across and took her hand. He said in a low voice, ‘I wish we could see them together,’ and lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

      Violet, her heart quickening, looked into his eyes and saw that he was regarding her tenderly. What did he mean? Surely he couldn’t be toying with her; his expression was full of hope, as though he had spoken from the heart and now waited for her reply. The sound of voices reached them as Titus and Elizabeth made their way back, Elizabeth teasing Titus about his unending appetite for tea and cake.

      ‘I … I should like that,’ Violet said quickly as he relinquished her hand. Then, made bold by a heady rush of joy, she said, ‘And you, what would you do with your life if you could do anything at all?’

      Elizabeth was calling to her, ‘Do we have more matches for the spirit lamp? Titus says I’ve talked at him so much I’ve made him thirsty.’ Violet held up the matches, knelt up and smoothed out the cloth and started setting out the tea things.

      As the others reached them and flopped down, Edmund leant close to her and said, ‘I would take you to all of those places,’ and Violet bent her head to measure tea from the caddy into the pot, to hide her face from the others.

      Elizabeth took off her hat and fanned herself with it. ‘Do you think the weather’s set fair for a few days, Titus?’ she asked.

      ‘Mmm, I should say so,’ Titus said, cutting himself a good wedge of fruitcake. ‘For the rest of the week at least.’

      ‘Then our garden party will be on Saturday,’ Elizabeth announced. ‘We can invite everybody: the cousins, our set from school, Edmund’s set of officer types.’ She lit the spirit lamp under the kettle.

      ‘Hold on, old girl, don’t go overboard with the numbers – in particular no need for too many officer types,’ Titus said. ‘Your mother might not want too much brouhaha.’

      ‘Nonsense, Mother’s a dear and you know I wouldn’t choose any other tennis partner than you.’

      Titus said, ‘Ah, well, in that case …’ and looked mollified.

      ‘If it stays fine we can have dancing in the open air in the evening as we did last year. What do you think, Edmund?’

      ‘I think that would be perfectly splendid,’ Edmund said, looking straight at Violet.

      On Saturday, the long sloping lawns beneath the cedars and elms were mowed and rolled. The horse pulling the contraptions had its hooves clad in leather overshoes to achieve a smooth, undented finish, although, as Edmund pointed out, the undulating nature of the ground always added an interesting dimension to ball sports, however much one rolled it. The formal gardens were tidied: hedges neatened, paths raked, the rambling roses around the arbour trimmed. Tables and chairs were brought outside and placed in groups under bright awnings and trestle tables with starched white cloths were laden with lemonade and ginger beer.

      By four o’clock, the party was in full swing. Older guests, aunts and mothers chatted in the shade or strolled sedately around the grounds while children chased hoops or stood in line to climb through the great split trunk of the oldest cedar tree to jump down into the arms of obliging uncles. The young people had voted for tennis rather than croquet and the grass court on the least bumpy stretch of ground beside the shrubbery had been newly marked out and the net strung up. Despite Lucien Hilliard, a boisterous but conversationally inept young man, importuning Violet to partner him, Violet had sat out for the first few games, pleading the heat as an excuse. Edmund, as host, had held back until all the guests who wanted a game had played, but then, in the late afternoon, deftly suggested that the heat was waning and swept Violet into a game before Lucien could say anything more.

      Violet and Edmund were playing Elizabeth and Titus, who were winning with panache: Titus having a powerful serve and Elizabeth a fiercely competitive streak.

      ‘You’re not trying hard enough, Edmund!’ she called out to her brother as the ball hit a bump in the ground and flew off at an impossible angle.

      ‘Oh come on, ’Lizbeth, no one could have reached that.’

      Elizabeth smirked.

      ‘Forty-love,’ Titus said loudly, sweating and red in the face. He positioned himself to serve again and bounced the ball impatiently in front of him.

      Edmund and Violet exchanged a smile. Violet settled her hat more firmly on her head and gathered her skirts in one hand, ready to return the serve. Titus threw high and hit the ball with such force that Violet had to duck. She turned to see Edmund running backwards in an effort to keep the ball in play. Swiping wildly at it, he missed his footing on the uneven ground, scrambled backwards, and finally sat down with a thump, pulling a clownish expression. Violet, overcome by laughter, subsided to her knees and the ball bounced away into the shrubbery behind them.

      ‘Game!’ Titus and Elizabeth shouted at the same time. Titus raised his fists in a ridiculous overplayed gesture of triumph and Elizabeth threw her racquet in the air and caught it, which made Violet turn to Edmund and laugh even more. She got up and ran to help him look for the lost ball. They pushed through the thick stand of bushes and trees and moved deeper into the gloom, Edmund sweeping away the twiggy undergrowth and last year’s fallen leaves with his racquet. Spotting the ball at the same time, they both stooped to retrieve it and bumped into one another. Edmund put out his hand to help her up and mumbled an awkward apology but as they rose, his eyes were already searching hers. Violet knew with sudden certainty that he wanted to kiss her and, even more disturbingly, that she wanted to be kissed. From the