He looked up the slight rise to the lodge, which slept under eaves crusted with ice. A lazy curl of smoke rose from the chimney. He had left her asleep, sprawled on her stomach, her hair in knots and her arms flung careless around her pillow. Too full of energy to remain in bed, he had, as silently as possible, dressed, fixed the fire, and set a kettle of water over a low flame so it would boil slowly while he took a walk. He would have liked to sort out last night in his mind, to categorize his feelings in some sober order, but it seemed all he could do this morning was grin and chuckle and wave at the empty world in foolish happiness.

As he gazed, the French door was pushed open and she came out of the house, squinting at the brightness. She had dressed and wore his blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was carrying two mugs of tea, which steamed in the air. Smiling under her tangle of hair, she picked her way carefully down the stony path, while he held his breath as if the slightest move might cause her to shy away.

“You should have woken me,” she said. “I hope you weren’t fleeing the scene?”

“I needed to do a little capering about,” he said. “Some beating of the chest and a spot of cheering—manly stuff.”

“Oh, do show me,” she said, laughing while he executed a few half-remembered dance steps, jumped on and off a tussock of grass and kicked at a large stone with a wild hooting. The stone bounced down the shore and plopped into the lake while the Major winced and shook out his injured foot. “Ouch,” he said. “That’s about as much primeval man as I can manage.”

“Do I get a turn?” she asked. She handed him a mug for each hand and then spun herself in wild pirouettes to the shore where she stomped her feet in the freezing waters and let out a long, musical yowling sound that seemed to come from the earth itself. A flight of hidden ducks launched themselves into the air and she laughed and waved as they flew low across the water. Then she came running back and kissed him while he spread his arms wide and tried to keep his balance.

“Careful, careful,” he said, feeling a splash of scalding tea on his wrist. “Passion is all very well, but it wouldn’t do to spill the tea.” As they found two large rocks to sit on and slowly savored their tea and munched on the last two, slightly stale almond cakes, they continued to laugh and to break out, every now and then, into smaller whoops and yells. He offered her a sustained yodel and she sang back to him a phrase or two of a haunting song from her childhood and while the lake lapped at their feet and the mountains absorbed their calls and the sky flung its blue parachute over their heads, he thought how wonderful it was that life was, after all, more simple than he had ever imagined.

Chapter 23

For the first time ever, the drive back to Edgecombe did not seem like the drive home. Instead it seemed that the closer they got, the more his hopes sank and his stomach tightened, squeezing bile he could taste. He had promised to get Jasmina home for the wedding and they had risen early, before the dawn, rather than go back the night before. Now he kept the car pointed south, roaring past the midlands and ignoring the seductive siren call of Stratford-upon-Avon though it turned both their heads as they sped past the beckoning exit. He coasted grim-faced through the snarls of London’s twin airports and for the first time he could remember, he was not cheered when the first signs for the south coast began to appear.

“We are making good time,” she said, smiling. “I do hope Najwa has remembered to get me the clothes.” She had called on her cell phone and arranged to have Mrs. Rasool let the family know she was coming to the wedding and to have a complete set of suitable clothes waiting for her. He had heard a smothered laugh while she talked and she told him Mrs. Rasool was making extra rasmalai for the wedding dinner, which would secretly be in his honor. “She is very upset with my sister-in-law, who keeps changing the dinner menu and wants the expenses broken down toothpick by toothpick,” she added. “So she is very happy to know that we will add a pinch of subversion to the feast.”

“Are you sure I should come with you?” he asked. “I’d hate to be their excuse to back out.”

“Najwa has arranged it so we can wait until we see the Imam arrive before we go in,” she said. “Then they will not be able to make a fuss. It will drive them crazy, which will be of great satisfaction to me, but they will get their final papers signed and the shop will belong to Abdul Wahid, so what can they do?” Then she was quiet, staring out of the window.

“And you’re sure about signing away the shop?” he said.

“I think my husband would be proud to see his legacy passed on. He gave the shop to me, freely, and I will, in the same spirit, give it to Abdul Wahid so that he and Amina and George can live lives of their own as I have been allowed to do.”

“Unselfish acts are rare these days. I admire you.”

“You are not a selfish man, Ernest. You gave up your trip to Scotland to rescue me.”

“If acts of selflessness brought such rewards,” he said, “we would be a nation of saints.”

They took a small back lane into the village. Rose Lodge looked welcoming in a brief interlude of pale sunshine and they hurried inside to avoid being seen by the neighbors.

There was a still-warm teapot on the kitchen table, together with the remains of a ham sandwich and the day’s newspaper, which wore a distinctly crumpled look. In the sink huddled more dirty plates and a greasy carton fringed with dried fried rice.

“Someone’s been here,” said the Major in some alarm and he looked around for the poker, intending to check the whole house for intruders.

“Hullo, hullo,” said a voice from the passageway and Roger appeared with a plate of toast and a tea mug. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “You could have let me know you were coming. I’d have cleared up.”

“I should have let you know?” asked the Major. “This is my house. Why on earth aren’t you in Scotland?”

“I felt like coming home,” said Roger. “But I suppose I shan’t be welcome here any more.” He glared at Jasmina and the Major weighed the likelihood of his being able to lift Roger by the lapels of his jacket and propel him face first into the street. He thought he could do it but that the struggle might draw unwelcome attention from the neighbors.

“Your welcome here will depend entirely on your own ability to keep a civil tongue in your head,” said the Major. “I don’t have time for your petulance today. Mrs. Ali and I have a wedding to attend.”

“I don’t suppose it matters to you that my life is in ruins,” said Roger. He tried to adopt a stiff-jawed pose, but the effect was spoiled by the toast sliding off the plate and landing butter side down on his trousers, whence it slid its greasy way down to the floor. “Oh, bloody hell,” he said, putting down his plate and mug to wipe at his leg with the back of his hand.

“Why don’t you sit down?” said the Major, examining the contents of the teapot to see whether it was still fresh. “Then we’ll have some tea and you can tell Jasmina and me all about it.”

“It’s Jasmina now, is it?” said Roger as the Major poured tea and handed round the cups. “I can’t believe my own father has a lady friend—at his age.” He shook his head as if this were the final nail in the coffin of his shattered life.

“I refuse to be referred to by a term so oily with double entendre,” said Jasmina as she hung her coat on one of the pegs by the back door and came to sit at the table. She was very composed as she smiled at Roger, though the Major noted a slight compression of the jaw and chin. “I prefer ‘lover,’ ” she said.

The Major choked on his tea and Roger actually laughed. “Well, that’ll make the village speechless,” he said.

“Which would be truly wonderful,” she said, and sipped her tea.

“Forget about us,” said the Major. “What happened in Scotland, and where are my guns?”

“That’s my father,” said Roger. “Goes straight to what’s important.”

“Did you sell them? Tell me quick.” The Major tensed, waiting for the pain of the news as one would wait to have a sticking plaster ripped from the skin.

“I did not sell them,” Roger said. “I told Ferguson where he could shove his all-cash offer and I brought them home directly.” He paused and added, “Or not so very directly. I came on the train and had a hell of a time with connections.”