Choking with this monstrous dose of fiasco, Elizabeth made for the present no further attempt to cause her friends to recoil from the idea of Lucia’s skippings, for they only rejoiced that she was sufficiently recovered to do so. The party presently dispersed, and she walked away with her sketching things and Diva, and glanced up the street towards her house. Irene was already standing by the door, and Elizabeth turned away with a shudder, for Irene waved her hand to them and was admitted.

‘It’s all very strange, dear Diva, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘It’s impossible to believe that Lucia’s been ill, and it’s useless to try to do so. Then there’s Mr Georgie’s disappearance. I never thought of that before.’

Diva interrupted.

‘If I were you, Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘I should hold my tongue about it all. Much wiser.’

‘Indeed?’ said Elizabeth, beginning to tremble.

‘Yes. I tell you so as a friend,’ continued Diva firmly. ‘You got hold of a false scent. You made us think that Lucia was avoiding the Faraglione. All wrong from beginning to end. One of your worst shots. Give it up.’

‘But there is something queer,’ said Elizabeth wildly. ‘Skipping –’

‘If there is,’ said Diva, ‘you’re not clever enough to find it out. That’s my advice. Take it or leave it. I don’t care. Au reservoir.’

Chapter 7

Had Miss Mapp been able to hear what went on in the garden-room that afternoon, as well as she had been able to see what had gone on that morning in the garden, she would never have found Irene more cruelly quaint. Her account of this luncheon party was more than graphic, for so well did she reproduce the Contessa’s fervid monologue and poor Elizabeth’s teasings over what she wanted them all to guess, that it positively seemed to be illustrated. Almost more exasperating to Miss Mapp would have been Lucia’s pitiful contempt for the impotence of her malicious efforts.

‘Poor thing!’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think she is a little mad. Una pazza: un po’ pazza… But I regret not seeing the Contessa. Nice of her to have approved of my scribbled note, and I dare say I should have found that she talked Italian very well indeed. Tomorrow – for after my delicious exercise on the lawn this morning, I do not feel up to more today – tomorrow I should certainly have hoped to call – in the afternoon – and have had a chat with her. But she is leaving in the morning, I understand.’

Lucia, looking the picture of vigour and vitality, swept across to the curtained window and threw back those screenings with a movement that made the curtain-rings chime together.