He wondered whether he should mention that he had seen Anthony Chapman again, and that they would work together in the future as members of a conservation board. But he decided against it. That was probably the real reason she did not want to go back. Memories of Kenya made her sad.

‘How’s Edward?’ he said.

‘Busy.’

‘Would you ever think of marrying him, Camilla?’

‘I wouldn’t think of marrying anyone,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m much too busy. Too much going on. When it can be fitted in, there’s an Italian company that wants to do some photographs in the Bahamas and New York. I’ll be in Paris next week for a couple of days, and again in a month, if things are still the same with Mother. And I’ve found someone really professional to start doing beading and embroidery for me. I took my African designs for jackets and handbags to a place in Bond Street, but before they made up their minds Saul Greenberg bought them. He wants to do a limited, exclusive line for a boutique in New York. Suede clothes and handbags, banded and embroidered with Kenya beads and trinkets and feathers. I want to supervise the first collection myself, so I’m getting everything made in London. Because I can’t go to New York just now.’

‘Don’t push yourself too hard,’ George said. ‘You spend a great deal of time with your mother, and that takes its toll though you may not realise it. It might be sensible to slow down with your other obligations.’

‘You have no choice but to be constantly in the spotlight in my line of work, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Otherwise you’re forgotten. There’s always someone new and different and better on the way up and I need to shore up my bank account before I’m cast aside in favour of some skinny teenager. Designing clothes is my plan for doing that.’

‘You know what they say about all work and no play,’ George said. ‘It’s more than simply good for you to take a breather now and again.’

Camilla inspected her father more closely. His hair was thinning and his face seemed to have lengthened, grown older. There were undisguisable lines of sadness at the edge of his mouth. But he was still handsome and his grey eyes keen. He was wearing a suit she remembered him buying in Rome. His cuff links flashed as he reached to take his knife and fork and she saw that they were a pair Marina had given him for his birthday years ago.

‘You’ve lost some weight,’ she said. ‘It’s all these soup and toast suppers with Mother. You look as though you could do with a few more square meals. Like this wonderfully stodgy stuff they serve here. And maybe you’d better lighten up yourself.’