It turned out that the Drinkwaters did indeed have friends in common with the Samuels, they moved on the fringes of one another’s circles. Zachary was immediately, expansively, at home in the terracotta-painted drawing room on the first floor, full of interesting objets. He threw his coat and scarf onto a chair and sprawled on the comfortable sofa, willingly drinking more tea although they’d had second helpings at the Louis. Barbara asked how they knew each other and Zachary said it was through Lydia. — Oh, we adore Lydia, Barbara said. — We’ve known her forever. So funny when she was eleven, in her frilly party dress. A solid little pudding in those days. A force of nature! Now she and I confabulate over silly subjects like make-up and hairstyles — I can’t talk about them to Christine, she’s too intelligent.

— Mum, you make intelligence sound insufferable.

— But it’s true, darling! You’re not interested in make-up.

Zachary had promised not to mention Christine’s pictures. — Your daughter’s a genius, he said. — She’s so talented.

— Isn’t she wonderful? Though rather terrifying. She’s awfully hard on her poor old mother, who can’t keep up.

— Well she’s very nice to me, he defended her stoutly. — And doesn’t terrify me in the least. Lydia’s the terrifying one.

Christine was surprised. — Really? Lydia? You’ve never said that to me before.

— Haven’t I?

He looked at her with some trouble in his pink bright face. — She rather squelches me. As far as she’s concerned, I think I’m a piece of the furniture, for tripping over. I’m turned into a jelly by a girl like that.

— She’s very attractive, Barbara said with interest. — Is that what you mean?

— Oh yes, she’s marvellous. Sumptuous. You know, like … He was frankly nonplussed. — Like an actress. Like a goddess in a painting.

Christine stared. — Is that what you think of her?

— One of the goddesses who punish mortal men if they get too close. She makes me think I’m going to be turned into a deer and eaten by my own hounds or something. But in a good way.

Barbara sat smiling, from her daughter to Zachary and back again.

Then she asked how Christine’s research was going and Christine reported briefly that her supervisor said she was on track – she bored herself, if she ever talked to her mother about her academic work. She didn’t mention that she was contemplating giving all that up: she hugged to herself her knowledge of what Zachary had said about her pictures. Barbara wondered if Zachary was keen on the Victorians too, and he said he was mad about them, they were the next big thing. Barbara sighed, she said she preferred the eighteenth century.

— Good taste’s all over, Zachary said. — Now we all want feelings.

— Oh dear, I’m so much better on good taste.