Cat said nothing, simply grateful that John would not be joining them. She made the most of the box, leaning on the velvet-covered sill to scan the audience. She told herself she was people-watching but in her heart she knew she was Tilney-spotting. But no matter how keenly she studied the audience, she could see none of them. Perhaps they had no interest in ballet. It wasn’t a likely pursuit for a general and his lawyer son, after all. Disappointed, she sat back and immersed herself in the performance, which she found almost as captivating as she’d hoped.

At the interval, the Allens and Mrs Thorpe went to the bar. But Cat stayed put, preferring to continue her scrutiny of the audience. Even without the Tilneys, it was still an interesting study. But when the curtain went up for the second act, her attention was drawn by a commotion in the box opposite them. There seemed to be some reorganisation of the seating going on. Cat kept half an eye on the disturbance, which was enough attention to spot the unmistakable profile of Henry Tilney, his attention fixed on the spectacle on the stage.

Cat saw nothing of the rest of the ballet. Her eyes were glued to Henry, willing him to turn his head. But he was clearly impervious to any power of telepathy she possessed for his gaze never wavered from the dancers.

Then there came a brief scene change, and he did look around. His eyebrows rose then lowered when he saw her and he gave her the briefest of nods before turning back to the stage. For Cat, it was almost worse than if he’d never looked across at all. She wished she had the nerve to leave the box and run around the gallery to confront him with her explanation of what had happened the day before. It never crossed her mind that most people would consider Henry’s reaction to be an excessive response to an innocent error. Cat was determined to shoulder all the blame. Some might think that she was enjoying the opportunity to abase herself before him, but it should be remembered that she had been raised in a house where the notion of wifely obedience was honoured verbally at least.

When the applause died away and the house lights rose, there was no sign of Henry in the box opposite. Cat assumed he had left as soon as the curtain fell to avoid seeing her, in the same spirit exercised by his sister in the morning. But she was mistaken. Before they could leave their own box, there was a knock at the door and Mr Allen opened it to reveal Henry, who greeted Susie with calm politeness. ‘I saw you across the theatre and thought I should come and say hello,’ he said. He nodded at Cat, a look of dark reserve in his eyes.

‘Henry! Thank goodness you came round, I’ve been dying to speak to you and Ellie. You must have thought I was the rudest person on the planet yesterday, but it wasn’t my fault, was it, Susie. They told me you’d gone off with somebody else for the day, Johnny said he’d seen you walking into Haymarket station, and it was an hour after you said you’d be there, and he cornered me and I couldn’t say no. And honestly, I would much rather have been with you and Ellie, you wouldn’t believe the day I had—’

‘Cat, you’re crushing poor Henry against the wall,’ Susie said.

‘It’s OK, Susie, it’s very crowded in here,’ Henry said, a more natural smile lighting up his face as they stood as close as partners in a tango rather than a reel. She could sense the heat of his body and the clean masculine smell that clung to his skin. But his eyes were unfathomably dark. ‘At least you looked back and waved us on cheerfully when you passed us in Queensferry Street.’

Cat was dismayed at this further misunderstanding. ‘Oh no, not at all. I mean, I did look back, but I was appalled, not cheerful. I begged Johnny to stop and let me out. As soon as I saw you, I told him. If he’d only done what I asked instead of taking off like a bat out of hell, I’d have run after you and we could have had our walk. I wouldn’t have offended you and Ellie for the world.’

Her breathless entreaty would have charmed a harder heart than Henry Tilney’s. He shook his head indulgently and said, ‘Ellie was right. She insisted you’d never let us down deliberately. And we were horribly late, after all. Ellie blamed herself for putting the wrong number in her phone. She didn’t realise at first that she’d done it. She’d sent three or four texts before the other woman finally lost patience with her.’ He chuckled. ‘It was quite funny, really.’

‘Don’t say Ellie wasn’t angry, because I know she was. The man who answered your door—’

‘That’s Calman. He was my father’s batman in the army, now he’s our driver and man about the house.’

‘Calman,’ she said firmly, refusing to be diverted, ‘said your sister wasn’t in. And then, not five minutes later, she came out with your father. What’s that if it’s not being angry?’

‘Ellie told me. She was mortified in case you saw her leaving. But she was going to a private view with my father and he hates to be unpunctual. If she’d asked you in, he’d have been furious. If she was here, she’d tell you herself how sorry she is. But my father does rather rule the roost.’

‘So we’ve established that Ellie wasn’t cross with me. But you were.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You gave me such a black look from your box.’

‘If it was a black look, it was provoked by the dance, not you. Look, here I am. Would I have bothered to come round if I’d been angry with you?’

She had to own he had a point. ‘So we’re all happy again?’

He smiled. ‘Bloody delirious. So. When are we going to take this famous walk?’

‘Tomorrow?’

He made a face. ‘The weather forecast says it’s going to be hot and sunny. I hate climbing hills when it’s hot, I get so uncomfortable and sweaty. Leave it with me, I’ll work something out with Ellie.’ They swapped phone numbers, both taking extreme care to enter the correct set of digits on their phones. ‘I’ll text you.’ And he was gone, slipping away as suddenly as he had arrived.

Meanwhile, Martha Thorpe had opened the picnic basket she had brought with her and was handing round chilled canapés and individual cans of Pimm’s. ‘Just a little treat,’ she said. ‘We might as well make the most of the box while the crowds disperse.’

Cat gave Susie a questioning glance. Even though the younger Thorpe girls were tucking into their Pimm’s, Cat knew she shouldn’t be drinking under age in a public place. The occasional ginger beer shandy over Sunday lunch was permissible, but she didn’t want to cause the Allens any difficulty.

‘Get stuck in, Cat,’ Mr Allen said. ‘There’s not enough alcohol in that to bother a toddler. I won’t tell if you don’t.’ And he graced her with that charming smile of his, the one that made her understand exactly how he talked people into multi-million-pound projects. ‘You sorted things out with young Henry, then?’

Cat nodded. ‘I think so.’ Dreamily, she drifted across to the edge of the box and looked around the almost empty theatre. To her surprise, at the rear of the auditorium, she spotted John Thorpe deep in conversation with General Tilney, of all people. From the way they kept glancing up at the Allens’ box, she couldn’t help wondering if she was the subject of their conversation, though she couldn’t imagine why that might be. Cat did not consider herself to be that interesting.

She turned away and allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with Jess and Claire Thorpe, although she had little to add to their discussion of the relative merits of TV reality-show winners. As Martha cleared away their impromptu picnic, another male figure filled the doorway. This one was less welcome, however; John Thorpe stood tapping his watch. ‘Come on, ladies, there’s gin to be drunk at the Pleasance.’

In spite of her finest efforts, Cat couldn’t avoid John’s determined company as they made their way downstairs. ‘I saw you talking to General Tilney,’ she said, making the best of a bad job.

‘Amazing bloke. Fit, active. Looks as young as his sons.’

‘How do you know the General?’

‘How do I know the General?’ He gave her an incredulous look. ‘I said the other night, I was Freddie Tilney’s potboy at Fenners. He brought a bunch of us back to Northanger Abbey one Easter break. Three of his friends and us four potboys. I met the General then. And more recently, we’ve run into each other at the tables.’ He preened momentarily. ‘Playing poker, that was the last time. Down in London. I took him for a few quid and, fair play to him, he coughed up without a whimper. Rich as a Jew, so they say. And apparently he’s a real foodie. Not that I’ve ever managed to fiddle an invitation to dinner. Only a matter of time, though. Especially since he thinks you’re such a cracker.’

‘Me? You were talking about me?’

‘Absolutely. He thinks you’re quite the prettiest girl in town. And what do you think I said?’ He lowered his voice and murmured in her ear. ‘I said, “Well spotted, General, that makes two of us.” So I think that dinner invitation can only be a matter of time.’

Cat was too busy considering the General’s opinion of her to notice the proprietary air of John Thorpe. He continued in the same vein of flattery, but she tuned him out as she had learned to do. All that mattered to Cat was that everything had been ironed out between her and the Tilneys. And, as it turned out, even the General liked her.

Going to bed, she congratulated herself on turning things around. No more gloom and misery. Now she was her happy optimistic self again.

Sorted.

13

As Henry had predicted, the following morning brought the kind of day that shows Edinburgh at its brilliant best. The sun brought warmth to grey stone that could otherwise look forbidding and the greenery of the trees and private gardens was a satisfyingly vivid contrast. Clearly it was not the sort of day to attract Henry to clambering up the slopes of Arthur’s Seat.