‘You’re absolutely brilliant for your age, aren’t you, James?’ Mirabel would say. ‘I suppose you’ll be a professor one day. You’ll probably win the Nobel prize.’

She asked him to teach her things: how to apply Pythagoras’ Theorem, how to convert Fahrenheit temperatures into Celsius, ounces into grammes, how to change the plug on her hair dryer.

‘I’d like to think Oliver might have half your brains, James, and then I’d be quite content. Francis is clever, mind you, though he’s so immature and lazy with it. I literally think you’re more mature than he is.’

Aunt Julie must have known for a long time that Mirabel was staying with the Fyfields, for nothing of that kind could be concealed in a village of the size of Great Sindon, but it was December before she mentioned the matter to James. They were sitting in front of the fire in the front sitting room at Sindon Lodge, eating crumpets toasted by Mrs Crowley and drinking Earl Grey tea, while Palmerston stretched out on the hearth rug. Outside a thin rain was driving against the window panes.

‘I hope Elizabeth knows what she’s doing, that’s all. If you’re not careful you’ll all be stuck with that girl for life.’

James said nothing.

‘Of course you don’t understand the ins and outs of it at your age, but in my opinion your parents should have thought twice before they let her come into their home and bring her illegitimate child with her.’ Aunt Julie looked at him darkly and perhaps spitefully. ‘That could have a very bad effect on Rosamund, you know. Rosamund will think immoral behaviour is quite all right when she sees people like Mirabel getting rewarded for it.’

‘She’s not exactly rewarded,’ said James, starting on the tea cakes and the greengage jam. ‘We don’t give her anything but her food and she has to sleep in the same room as Oliver.’ This seemed to him by far the worst aspect of Mirabel’s situation.

Aunt Julie made no reply. After a while she said, looking into the fire, ‘How d’you think you’d feel if you knew people only came to see you for the sake of getting your money? That’s all Madam Mirabel wants. She doesn’t care for me, she couldn’t care less. She comes here sweet talking to Mrs Crowley because she thinks once she’s in here I’ll take her back and make a will leaving everything I’ve got to her and that illegitimate child of hers. How d’you think you’d like it? Maybe you’ll come to it yourself one day, your grandchildren sucking up to you for what they can get.’

‘You don’t know people come for that,’ said James awkwardly, thinking of Rosamund.

Aunt Julie made a sound of disgust. ‘Aaah!’ She struck out with her arthritic hand as if pushing something away. ‘I’m not green, am I? I’m not daft. I’d despise myself, I can tell you, if I pretended it wasn’t as plain as the nose on my face what you all come for.’