EPILOGUE
The summer before the second war, three years since her brother’s death, Trix was an invited guest at a Discussion Meeting of the Kipling Society. The May sunshine had brought out the women in flowered crêpe de chine. They sat, smiling agreeably from beneath fashionable hats, round the depleted tables. A few waitresses, crowned with stiff pleats of white linen, were still gathering up the odd untouched knife or spoon. It had been an excellent lunch but then, the Secretary always made sure of that.
‘Damned fine organisation, the Kipling Society,’ one man murmured to another.
At the top table, the Hon. Secretary was on his feet, ready to introduce ‘our distinguished speaker’. The elderly lady at his right leaned forward, her large, slightly protruberant eyes bright, as his tal
