Belinda turned to look at me in surprise. "Why, because Hugo and Christina asked him, of course. He was in London anyway, and—"

"Hugo and Christina?" I stopped, halfway up the flight of stone steps. Celia almost cannoned into the back of me, but her eyes, when I glanced round, were huge too. "I thought they were abroad for the summer?"

"Well, darling, they thought so, too. But it turned out there was some fuss at the works. Something to do with a pipeline, urgent maintenance or something. They had to cancel. Honestly, that wretched business! It was the same in Roger's day. Couldn't seem to do without him for five minutes! Naturally they're disappointed, but there we are. These things happen. I thought Peter would have told you?"

"No . . . no. He – he must have forgotten to mention it."

She led us inside. "Well, it's a blessing, too, of course, because it means they're here for the summer, which is lovely for us. And they're so dying to see you. Oh Lord, is that a mouse she's got? Truffle, come here!" She bustled after their ancient black Labrador who'd appeared with a welcoming present, wagging her tail. Seeing it was not appreciated she fled with her prize to the kitchen. Belinda gave chase.

"I'd never have come," I muttered, horrified. "If I'd known . . .”

“Don't panic," Celia murmured, "we'll handle it."

“We'll find an excuse. Mum's broken her leg, or – or a fire in the studio. Yes, a fire—"

“It'll be fine,” Celia soothed as Belinda returned, bearing the dead mouse triumphantly by the tail. “At least it's not a rat!” she cried. “She's done that before.” She leaned past us and chucked it through the door into the flower bed. “Wretched dog, she collects them, would you believe. I found three in her basket the other day, and let me tell you, they reek. Now, in you come. I think everyone's on the terrace. Lunch won't be long – we waited, which means they're probably well oiled by now.”