There was wine, a deep coal-red. Cheta poured a glass for Rachaela.

Ruth too had wine which she drank in greedy little sips.

None of them had changed. This family did not.

Ruth sparkled in the midst of them like a jewel in cobwebs.

The family was pleased. It had an aura of well-being. They had got what they wanted. All of them basked, the Scarabae, Ruth.

Only Camillo was absent. And Adamus.

Rachaela left her food unfinished.

‘A few days ago,’ said Ruth, ‘we had seagull. Jack found it.’

Rachaela said, ‘The cat used to hunt them.’

‘The cat is very old now,’ said Anna. ‘It sleeps all day and most of the night.’

Something had altered. The cat had altered.

Maria brought a strawberry tart.

Rachaela watched Ruth spoon the tart into her red mouth. She had a second helping, as she had done of the casserole. Real home-cooked fare, such as Emma had provided.

Rachaela got up. ‘Excuse me.’ She took her glass of wine across the room, and watched the table from there. It was obscene to pretend to be part of it.

If she, Rachaela, had been abducted as a child or teenager, would she have responded to the Scarabae as Ruth did? Who could tell, now.

The meal was finally finished with the cheeseboard and a dish of fruit. Ruth ate from these too.

The Scarabae rose and went like some collective creature, some sort of amoeba with Ruth its glowing heart, into the drawing room.

Here the old men and women deposited themselves about the room. They took up knitting and sewing, books and chess games. A mild muttering came from them like settling insects.

Maria and Cheta served tea.

Ruth stood before the screened fireplace in her duchess gown, drinking her tea, the focus for all the eyes which constantly rose and came to her, and the old smiles which lifted up the lips over the discoloured, sharp old teeth.

Ruth set down her cup and saucer by the stopped golden clock.

‘Shall I go up now?’

‘Yes,’ said Anna from a couch. ‘Go up.’

Rachaela observed her child swirl delicately from the fireplace and hurry with the well-known, swift fox-like movement from the room. Her acknowledgements to Rachaela were over. Ruth did not even glance at her.

‘Where is she going, Anna?’ Rachaela asked steadily.

‘Into the tower.’

‘Adamus’s tower.’

‘Adamus is teaching her the piano, Rachaela.’

A heartbeat interrupted Rachaela’s breathing. She cleared her throat and said, ‘How logical.’

‘Yes. It seems she has a natural aptitude.’

‘No doubt. Anna,’ Rachaela hesitated. ‘I want to talk to you.’

Anna got up like a faultless, tactful hostess. ‘Perhaps you’d like to see Ruth’s room?’

‘All right.’

Nobody watched them go out in turn. The Scarabae were not concerned with Rachaela now. Her day was over.