Mrs Henry Ancred was a firmly built white-skinned woman. Her faded hair was scrupulously groomed into a rather wig-like coiffure. She looked, Troy thought, a little as if she managed some quiet but extremely expensive boardinghouse or perhaps a school. Her voice was unusually deep, and her hands and feet unusually large. Unlike her son, she had a wide mouth, but there was a resemblance to Cedric about the eyes and chin. She wore a sensible blouse, a cardigan, and a dark skirt, and she shook hands heartily with Troy. A capable woman.

‘So glad you’ve decided to come,’ she said. ‘My father-in-law’s quite excited. It will take him out of himself and fill in his day nicely.’

Cedric gave a little shriek: ‘Milly, darling!’ he cried. ‘How—you can!’ He made an agonized face at Troy.

‘Have I said something I shouldn’t?’ asked his mother. ‘So like me!’ And she laughed heartily.

‘Of course you haven’t,’ Troy said hurriedly, ignoring Cedric. ‘I only hope the sittings won’t tire Sir Henry.’

‘Oh, he’ll tell you at once if he’s tired,’ Millamant Ancred assured her, and Troy had an unpleasant picture of a canvas six by four feet, to be completed in a fortnight, with a sitter who had no hesitation in telling her when he felt tired.

‘Well, anyway,’ Cedric cried shrilly. ‘Drinks!’

They sat round the fire, Paul and Fenella on a sofa, Troy opposite them, and Millamant Ancred, squarely, on a high chair. Cedric pulled a humpty up to his mother, curled himself on it, and rested an arm on her knees. Paul and Fenella glanced at him with ill-concealed distaste.

‘What have you been doing, dear?’ Millamant asked her son, and put her square white hand on his shoulder.

‘Such a lot of tiresome jobs,’ he sighed, rubbing his cheek on the hand. ‘Tell us what’s going to happen here. I want something gay and exciting. A party for Mrs Alleyn. Please! You’d like a party, wouldn’t you?’ he persisted, appealing to Troy. ‘Say you would.’

‘But I’ve come to work,’ said Troy, and because he made her feel uncomfortable she spoke abruptly. ‘Damn!’ she thought. ‘Even that sounds as if I expected her to take him seriously.’

But Millamant laughed indulgently. ‘Mrs Alleyn will be with us for The Birthday,’ she said, ‘and so will you, dear, if you really can stay for ten days. Can you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said fretfully. ‘The office-place is being tatted up. I’ve brought my dreary work with me. But The Birthday! How abysmally depressing! Darling Milly, I don’t think, really, that I can face another Birthday.’

‘Don’t be naughty,’ said Millamant in her gruff voice.

‘Let’s have another drink,’ said Paul loudly.

‘Is somebody talking about drink?’ cried a disembodied voice in the minstrels’ gallery. ‘Goody! Goody! Goody!’

‘Oh, God!’ Cedric whispered. ‘Sonia!’