Now that they had met she saw that the girl was neither quite so pretty nor so doll-like as in the photos. Her nose was perhaps too small, mouth too wide, for prettiness, features somehow too irregular for a doll. Women like Claire had been brought up to regard themselves and their kind critically. To think, if her legs weren’t her best feature then should she wear her skirt so short? But the brightness of her expression made up for much of that. She managed some brightness even as she shook away a little yawn that showed how tired she was. She put up a hand to stifle the yawn, shook off her tiredness and looked about her some more. How long have you lived here? she was asking. Did you make all this garden yourself? Since I was married, Claire said, and yes, she had made the garden, over the years; it was amazing to think that almost everything that was in it now she had planted herself, so little remained from before, things that she had planted become trees, views cut off, others created, the place quite transformed. Even Charlie would scarcely have known it now. Do you have a garden in Japan? she asked, and the girl said no, she had always lived in an apartment, though her grandparents had a garden, her grandparents had an old house in its own garden, not so big as this one, in fact very much smaller, but a very nice garden all the same. Again the girl yawned. Let’s go in, Claire said, have supper. We’ll start without Richard if we have to. You must be so tired after your flight.