Joan couldn’t imagine an infant simply dying to see anyone.

“I’m parched,” said Sybil.

“Of course, of course.” Douglas fairly ran from the room. They heard a door bang.

“Well, I must say,” said Sybil.

“We need only stay an hour,” said Joan. She wondered over to the window seat and sat down.

“An hour? It’s taken us half a lifetime to get here.”

“Not quite. Anyway, you looked more comfortable in the Rolls.”

“They’ve had all morning,” said Sybil.

She wants to make a show of it, thought Joan, staring at the garden. “Would you mind if I left you? You don’t need me here, do you?”

“You might want to see him.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that. I need to stretch my legs. Do you mind awfully?”

“Oh, not at all,” said Sybil, wafting her hand through the air. “I shall just sit here then, shall I?”

“I’ll tell them to hurry up,” said Joan. She went down the passage to the kitchen. She knew the way – she’d been here once before, when Fagus was born. “Hello, Everett.”

Mrs. Everett said, “Oh, ma’am, I wasn’t expecting—” and patted her hands on her apron. Her iron-grey hair was clamped to the sides of her head with clips.

“Mother’s parched – and Enid’s not down, with or without the baby.”

“I’ll see right to it.”

“I think Douglas is seeing to it. How is he?”

“Mr. A? he’s—”

“No. The baby.”

“The baby. Such a poppet. You wouldn’t know, I mean, he’s such a poppet. Growing ever so nicely. Can’t stop eating, and sleeps like a—”

“I heard babies didn’t sleep very well at all.”

“Oh, he wakes and shouts, I’ll say. He had Mary up all night.”

“And her?”

“Well, now.” Mrs. Everett looked around as if searching for a prop. She found the biscuits that were cooling on a tray and started arranging them on a plate. “I should think it’s quite taken it out of her.”

“Does she get up?”

“She’s up today all right.” Biscuits arranged, she started on a sponge cake, cutting it into fine slices left standing so that by the time she’d finished it looked like an icing-sugar-dusted bicycle wheel.

“Where are the others?”

“Finetta’s up with Mary. Will her ladyship wish to see the little girl too?”

“I think Douglas said he’d get them.”

“Very good.” She poured boiling water into the pot.

“And Fagus?”

“Well I should think he’s out in the garden, ma’am, on such a lovely day. He likes to sit on the bench, listen to the wind, he says, and the birds and so on. He does go on.”

“Out the back?” said Joan, pointing at the double glass doors that led to the vegetable plot and the orchard.