‘I know. I’m sorry, but I have to be out by eight, when you said that you’d call. I’m sorry about yesterday.’

‘I got the hour wrong. Why can’t we all be the same? It’s so bloody silly.’

‘Yes. Sorry. What is it? Anything wrong? Not Annie? Giles?’

‘They’re all right. Fine. And so am I.’

‘I was just about to ask.’

‘Liar! No, I’m fine; I had a bit of a cold last week. Nothing, all gone. Is it lovely and sunny with you?’

‘It’ll be a hot day. But you are all right?’

‘Great. Never better. How’s your house? Are you in it yet? Well, obviously not – you are calling from the hotel, right?’

‘Right. There is a good deal to do to the place: new furniture, a coat of paint. I’m here until June-ish.’

‘Super. Brilliant. What I wanted to tell you was … well, you remember Eric Rhys-Evans? Welsh? I mentioned him in my letters?’

‘Yes. Yes, you did. And …’

‘Well, he’s Vice-President, Europe, lots of lolly, for Kraus-Kaufman-Levi, you know who I mean?’

‘Splendid English firm. All solid names those.’

There was a short silence.

‘You haven’t changed, sweetheart, have you? Still got your arse-breaking wit.’

‘Sorry.’

‘A bit early in the morning for jokes. Eric has got the Marks and Sparks contract and wants me to do P.M. for him for the spring. Next spring. Kiddies’ gear. Twenty little darlings plus mummies or chaperons, and me in charge.’

‘Sounds great. Next spring?’

‘Yes. But the shoot is pretty soon. He wants me to go on the recce soonish. Look for the backgrounds. You know, sand, sun, swimming-pools, and so on.’

‘How soonish?’

‘About a week … Marbella. Brilliant! Well, it’s better than Blackburn.’

‘And so?’

‘So what?’

‘So why call me? I mean, you want to go, don’t you?’

‘Naturally! But who looks after the children? Mrs Nicholls is not into being a nanny.’

‘Helen, dear. I can’t get back just yet. You know that.’

‘So I miss the chance of getting back myself? To work again after all this time? I won’t get the offer again, you know. Annie will go down to Mummy. They get on wonderfully well. Love each other. Very alike. And she goes to boarding school. No problem. Anyway, she’s all right. It’s Giles.’

‘What about Giles?’

‘Well. He doesn’t board, my dear William, he can’t cope on his own. He’s nine, not nineteen. And I can’t take him with me. So…’

‘So? Can’t he go to your mother, with Annie? Just for the shoot, or whatever you call it. It can’t be for all that long, surely?’