Having climbed the stairs and walked with a completely silent Fenella down an interminable picture gallery and two long passages, followed by a break-neck ascent up a winding stair, Troy found herself at a door upon which hung a wooden plaque bearing the word ‘Siddons.’ Fenella opened the door, and Troy was pleasantly welcomed by the reflection of leaping flames on white painted walls. White damask curtains with small garlands, a sheepskin rug, a low bed, and there, above a Victorian wash-stand, sure enough, hung Mrs Siddons. Troy’s painting gear was stacked in a corner.

‘What a nice room,’ said Troy.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Fenella in a suppressed voice. Troy saw with astonishment that she was in a rage.

‘I apologize,’ said Fenella shakily, ‘for my beastly family.’

‘Hallo,’ said Troy, ‘what’s all this?’

‘As if they weren’t damned lucky to get you! As if they wouldn’t still be damned lucky if you decided to paint Grandpa standing on his head with garlic growing out of the soles of his boots. It’s such cheek. Even that frightful twirp Cedric was ashamed.’

‘Good Lord!’ said Troy ‘That’s nothing unusual. You’ve no conception how funny people can be about portraits.’

‘I hate them! And you heard how catty they were about Mummy coming. I do think old women are foul. And that bitch Sonia lying there lapping it all up. How they can, in front of her! Paul and I were so ashamed.’

Fenella stamped, dropped on her knees in front of the fire and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I’m worse than they are, but I’m so sick of it all. I wish I hadn’t come to Ancreton. I loathe Ancreton. If you only knew what it’s like.’

‘Look here,’ Troy said gently, ‘are you sure you want to talk to me like this?’

‘I know it’s frightful, but I can’t help it. How would you feel if your grandfather brought a loathsome blonde into the house? How would you feel?’

Troy had a momentary vision of her grandfather, now deceased. He had been an austere and somewhat finicky don.

‘Everybody’s laughing at him,’ Fenella sobbed. ‘And I used to like him so much. Now he’s just silly. A silly amorous old man. He behaves like that himself and then when I—when I went to—it doesn’t matter. I’m terribly sorry. It’s awful, boring you like this.’

Troy sat on a low chair by the fire and looked thoughtfully at Fenella. The child really is upset, she thought, and realized that already she had begun to question the authenticity of the Ancreds’ emotions. She said: ‘You needn’t think it’s awful, and you’re not boring me. Only don’t say things you’ll feel inclined to kick yourself for when you’ve got under way again.’