‘I wonder if dear Lucia wrote that note herself,’ she said pensively.

‘Pish! Her parlourmaid, doubtless,’ said the Contessa. ‘For me, I must spend an hour this afternoon to see if I can answer that letter in a way that will not disgrace me.’

There seemed little more to be said on that subject and Elizabeth hastily resumed her tantalisation.

‘Nobody has tried to guess yet what I saw from the church tower,’ she said. ‘Major Benjy, you try! It was Lucia, but how was she dressed and what was she doing?’

There was a coldness about Major Benjy. He had allowed himself to suspect, owing to Elizabeth’s delicate hints, that there was perhaps some Italian mystery behind Lucia’s influenza, and now he must make amends.

‘Couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘She was sure to have been very nicely dressed from what I know of her.’

‘I’ll give you a hint then,’ said she. ‘I’ve never seen her dressed like that before.’

Major Benjy’s attention completely wandered. He made no attempt to guess but sipped his coffee.

‘You then, Mr Wyse, if Major Benjy gives up,’ said Elizabeth, getting anxious. Though the suspected cause of Lucia’s illness was disproved, it still looked as if she had never had influenza at all, and that was something.

‘My ingenuity, I am sure, will not be equal to the occasion,’ said Mr Wyse very politely. ‘You will be obliged to tell me. I give up.’

Elizabeth emitted a shrill little titter.

‘A dressing gown,’ she said. ‘A bathing costume. And she was skipping! Fancy! With influenza!’

There was a dreadful pause. No babble of excited enquiry and comment took place at all. The Contessa put up her monocle, focused Elizabeth for a moment, and this pause somehow was like the hush that succeeds some slight gaffe, some small indelicacy that had better have been left unsaid. Her host came to her rescue.

‘That is indeed good news,’ said Mr Wyse. ‘We may encourage ourselves to hope that our friend is well on the road to convalescence. Thank you for telling us that, Miss Mapp.’

Mrs Bartlett gave one of her little mouse-like squeals, and Irene said:

‘Hurrah! I shall try to see her this afternoon. I am glad.’

That again was an awful thought. Irene no doubt, if admitted, would give an account of the luncheon party which would lose nothing in the telling, and she was such a ruthless mimic. Elizabeth felt a sinking feeling.

‘Would that be wise, dear?’ she said. ‘Lucia is probably not yet free from infection, and we mustn’t have you down with it. I wonder where she caught it, by the way?’

‘But your point is that she’s never had influenza at all,’ said Irene with that dismal directness of hers.