Balding, Nathan still wore long what hair he had left, tucked it behind his ears. He had grown bulky over the years, across the shoulders and in the thighs, and now was scoffing more than his share of the potato crisps, dabbing greasy-fingered in the bowl with the oblivious appetite of one who mostly eats alone. Guileless and voluble, transparent in his moods, sometimes he sank deep in himself and needed to be alone for a few hours. And he had turned out unexpectedly in shorts from the first day, as if he’d been informed this was the dress code for holidays – though they were hardly necessary in the mild weather. They’d never seen his shapeless pale knees before. Lydia said she thought things were better when travel was restricted to the upper classes. — At least they had taste and good manners. And there weren’t so many of them.

— Now who’s being contrary for the sake of it? Christine said.

— It’s the downside to the Shelley thing, said Nathan. — Ye are Many, they are Few. Whoops!

— The tourism genie’s out of the bottle, said Zachary amiably. — You can’t put it back in. We have to make the best of it. I’m the cynical one, I’m finding that reasonably easy, right here and now. Are we going to eat out, or shall we go home to cook veal scaloppini?

Christine protested that she didn’t want to move, she was inside the magic of the hour. — I don’t ever want to move from here, from this moment right now. All of us here together. I’m so perfectly happy.

— Another Campari all round, in that case?

— Then I’d be inside the magic of alcohol instead. You’d have to carry me home.

— I’m willing.

But Alex was restless and stood up from the table. — You all stay here, he said. — I’m going to walk.