Both together: ‘We don’t know.’

‘You need some adult assistance,’ I said. ‘Let me have a crack at it.’ And I got up and went in.

I took a chair and sat down near the Princess. For an instant, the chair had hesitated in my hand; it had wanted to go to Billie’s side.

‘Right – let’s see then!’ I read it, dropped the paper, picked it up again, started again on a fresh piece of paper. They were looking at me mockingly. ‘Well?’

‘It’s not that easy!’

‘He can’t do it either!’ said Billie.

‘Let’s have a go at the red wine first!’ I said, and I did.

‘That’s very nice,’ said the Princess. ‘Wine-stains are every housewife’s favorite, particularly on sheets. What a pig!’ She was talking about me!

‘You can wash them out,’ I grumbled. ‘Salt-stains are removed by pouring red wine over them,’ proclaimed the Princess. They both lay on their tummies and pored over their newspaper. They got nowhere. Billie had swept her hair back off her forehead and looked like a baby. Like a picture of Billie as a baby. What a round face she had.

‘Ant . . . Antlers!’ shouted Billie. ‘Antlers for Hunting-trophies! There, we hadn’t got that one before! But where does Chrys-chrys . . .’

‘Me too!’ Now I was half-lying on the bed with the Princess, concentrating hard on the pencil-scribbles.

‘Chrysoprase!’ I said suddenly. ‘Chrysoprase! Give it to me!’ There was an admiring silence from the two of them, and I basked in my cultivated vocabulary. We listened. A gust of wind rattled the window-panes, and the rain drummed in the night outside.

‘It’s cold . . .’ I said.

‘Come in with me!’ said the Princess.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Billie?’ Billie didn’t. I lay very still beside the Princess.

‘Character from Shakespeare’s Tempest . . .’ Gradually Lydia’s warmth reached me. Something softly ran down my back. Billie was smoking and looking at the ceiling. I put my hand over – she took it and stroked me gently. Her ring flashed dimly. We were lying together like young animals – comfortably together, happy to be together: me in the middle, sheltered. Billie started to snarl.

‘Why are you snarling?’ asked Lydia.

‘Just snarling,’ said Billie. Character from Shakespeare’s Tempest . . . Was it the word? The word tempest? When bees hear other bees buzzing angrily, they become angry themselves. Was it the word tempest? It started up in my shoulder-blades. I stretched very slightly, and the Princess looked at me. ‘What’s the matter?’ No one spoke. Billie clicked my fingernails. We had dropped the newspaper. It was completely quiet.

‘Give Billie a kiss!’ said the Princess half-aloud. My diaphragm lifted – is that the seat of the soul? I propped myself up and kissed Billie. First of all, she just let me, then it was as though she was drinking me. Long, long . . . Then I kissed the Princess. That was like coming home from foreign lands.