"Well, come along, then," she said decisively, at this pause in the conversation. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and pushed her chair back. "I think we've all been sitting here long enough. And it's getting chilly. I tried to catch a few eyes earlier," she murmured reprovingly. "We'll take our coffee inside. Leave the men to their port."

She rose like the queen and I immediately rose too, as did Christina beside her. But Celia and Janey's eyes were huge. Celia glanced at me, and after a moment's hesitation, slowly got to her feet. Janey stayed put.

"I'd like some port, too, if I may," she said pleasantly. I saw Celia's bottom itching to rocket down again, but I shot her a look.

There was a silence. Then: "Of course," said Belinda quietly. But there was steel in her tone.

Without further ado she drifted away from the table, hands trailing behind her. She sailed majestically through the open French doors to the living room. Her female disciples followed mutely in her wake. Judas sat firmly at the table.

In front of the fireplace, on a vast, creamy, fringed stool, a waitress, as if by magic, was just setting a tray of coffee, a pot of mint tea, and a plate of home-made truffles. She glanced nervously at Belinda who nodded curtly, still clearly put out. Then she disappeared.

We sat down on the edge of the sofas and quietly helped ourselves to coffee. Belinda wrinkled her nose. At length, she spoke. "Funny little thing, isn't she?" she said softly. She took a sip from her tiny cup.

"Who?" Celia asked innocently.

“The American girl."

There was a silence. Celia set her cup down in her saucer and looked Belinda in the eye. "I was always taught it was impolite to discuss other guests so I couldn't possibly comment. Where might I powder my nose, Mrs Bellingdon?"

Belinda stared at her, astounded. "Well, I--" Then she gathered herself. Sat up straight. “Down the corridor," she said tartly. “Second on the left."

“Thank you." Celia rose and disappeared.

Belinda looked most put out. She gathered her pink pashmina shawl closer around her shoulders. "Well," she said at length. She shuddered ostentatiously. But then abruptly, her face puckered. Ridiculously, I found myself feeling sorry for her. I sank into my coffee. When I looked up, Christina's eyes were upon me. She looked upset, too. We exchanged knowing looks and drank our coffee. We had a great deal in common, Christina and I. We obviously had Hugo, but more pertinently, we had Belinda.

Chapter 13

“She's insufferable," Celia told me later as we walked home. "It had to be done.”

"But we're guests, Cele. It makes it awkward, don't you see?"

"Well, I won't be, again. A guest. And we're renting the cottage so, no, not really. I don't care if I offend her."