“Oh,” Finetta looked at the menu again, “I hadn’t realised there were two.”

“Have the plaice,” said Ian.

“The plaice,” said Finetta, handing her menu to the waitress.

“And what have you been up to?” said Ian. He flapped his napkin onto his lap. “Did you get a new boiler?”

Her letters were all about boilers and gas leaks, his about estates. “I had to get a completely new one. Such a bore.”

“I wonder if you shouldn’t move.”

“Do you?”

“I saw the most darling house in Newbury. Perfect for you. I thought of you in an instant.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“It’s got a little bridge over a stream to the front door.”

Turn up and risk him being furious. Tell him and ruin lunch. “How darling.”

“We can go and see it if you like.”

“Won’t my house be a bore to sell?”

“We needn’t worry about that.”

Hurt him. Hurt her mother. She finished her sherry, he drained his Cinzano. Their first course arrived. He dug into his paté, she sipped a spoon of mushroom soup.

“Do you know, I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea you coming today after all.”

“Why’s that?” He buttered a triangle of bread.

“She’s terribly confused.”

“Do you think the shock might kill her?”

“There is that.” They both smiled. He poured her a glass of water. “Thank you.” She sipped it.

“You don’t have anything against it, do you?”

She picked up her spoon. “No, not in the least. I don’t expect you’ll find her changed.” She’ll make you mad. She’ll break your heart. “Old, of course, terribly old and wobbling.” She breaks everyone’s heart.

“I won’t stay long.”

“She likes tea sharp at four.”

“I shan’t stay for tea.”

“Oh.” Finetta dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Not for tea? Then perhaps another day really would be better. Wouldn’t it be simpler if you just popped in on your way up to town?”

“I am on my way up to town.”

“On another day.”

“Are you trying to put me off?”

“On your way up to town today? So you just thought—”

“I just thought I’d like to pop in and get the portrait.”

“What portrait?”

“The Augustus John, you remember the one. It used to hang in that dreadful corridor upstairs.”

“The one of her?”

“He’s become rather valuable.”

“Augustus John?”

“Yes. I thought I might have it.”

“You’re going to ask her for it?”

“I’m going to take it. I think she owes me that, don’t you? It’s about the only thing of value.”

“And the ring.”

“Does she still have it?”

“Never takes it off.”

“Dodo was always convinced she’d sold it.”

“She’d rather have cut off her own hand.”

“Then she’ll give it you, I expect.”