“Short legs,” Danny said in a critical tone, surveying his handiwork.

“Some dogs do have short legs. That’s fine.”

“Could be a hedgehog,” Danny said craftily, turning it upside down. “I like hedgehogs. I like them best.”

“That’s what’s so clever, Danny. It could be a hedgehog or a dog. In fact, it could be a hedgedog.”

Danny thought this was hilarious. He fell over laughing and kicked his legs in the air. Lindsay was just remembering how wonderfully reassuring small children were, because they liked the feeblest jokes, when something else occurred to her. She remembered the cake. She frowned.

“Did you know Rowland was coming, Danny?” she asked, feeling instantly guilty and mean.

“Yes. Mummy said at breakfast. She said it was a secret, a nice secret. But if I ate up all my egg, she’d tell me. So I did. I ate it all up, even the yucky white bits.”

Danny’s eyes rounded. He became bright red. He looked at Lindsay anxiously.

“It’s not a secret now, is it?” he whispered. “He’s here now. He brought me a ray gun. He ate his cake.”

“No, it’s not a secret now, Danny.” Lindsay gave him a kiss. “Besides, I won’t breathe a word.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Zip the lips. Sure.”

Danny loved zip the lips. He zipped his own, several times, then toddled off upstairs. Lindsay remained. She glared at the fire. Skunk, she thought: laughing up his sleeve at her throughout their meeting that morning. Lying, devious, manipulative, two-faced skunk! How long had he been planning this? What was he up to?

Charlotte stuck her head around the door, looking pink and flustered.

“Oh, there you are, Lindsay. I’m—I thought I’d just go and have a chat with Max. And change. Gini’s gone to read. We’re having guests for drinks at seven-thirty. They’ll stay only an hour. Then we’ll eat. I’ve made a huge steak and kidney pie. I hope it’s all right. I’m afraid you and Gini are sharing the end bathroom with Rowland, so if you want a bath…”

“I’d love a bath.”

“Well, turf Rowland out. Don’t let him hog all the hot water. And ignore the boys. Rowland brought them all ray guns. It sounds like World War Three up there.”

She disappeared, and Lindsay went upstairs. Martian noises emanated from the boys’ attic bedroom. Gini’s door was shut. The bathroom door was shut: the gushings and rumblings of ancient plumbing proclaimed Rowland’s occupancy. What in hell was the man doing—running a bath, or filling a swimming pool? Did he have to whistle while he did it? Lindsay glowered at the door, then retreated to her own room.

She looked at the clothes she had packed. She had planned to wear a rather dull dress, which she had brought mainly because it happened to be pressed and clean. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like it. She felt like wearing that very short Donna Karan skirt, that very short, tight skirt, made of the softest leather, a skirt that proclaimed to the world that Lindsay had excellent legs.