‘There are practically no sunsets at Riseholme,’ said Lucia. ‘I suppose the sun goes down, but there’s a row of hills in the way. I often think that Georgie’s development as an artist is starved there. If he goes back there he will find no one to make him work. What do you think of his painting, dear?’

‘I don’t think of it at all,’ said Irene.

‘No? I am astonished. Of course your own is so different in character. Those wrestlers! Such movement! But personally I find very great perception in Georgie’s work. A spaciousness, a calmness! I wish you would take an interest in it and encourage him. You can find beauty anywhere if you look for it.’

‘Of course I’ll do my best if you want me to,’ said Irene. ‘But it will be hard work to find beauty in Georgie’s little valentines.’

‘Do try. Give him some hints. Make him see what you see. All that boldness and freedom. That’s what he wants… Ah, the sunset is fading. Buona notte, bel sole! We must be getting home too. Addio, mia bella casa. But Georgie must be the first to know, Irene, do not speak of it until I have told him. Poor Georgie: I hope it will not be a terrible blow to him.’

Georgie came straight to Mallards on his arrival next morning from Folkestone with Cadman and Foljambe. His recall, he knew, meant that the highly dangerous Contessa had gone, and his admission by Grosvenor, after the door had been taken off the chain, that Lucia’s influenza was officially over. He looked quite bronzed, and she gave him the warmest welcome.

‘It all worked without a hitch,’ she said as she told him of the plots and counter-plots which had woven so brilliant a tapestry of events. ‘And it was that letter of Mrs Brocklebank’s which you sent me that clapped the lid on Elizabeth. I saw at once what I could make of it. Really, Georgie, I turned it into a stroke of genius.’

‘But it was a stroke of genius already,’ said Georgie. ‘You only had to copy it out and send it to the Contessa.’

Lucia was slightly ashamed of having taken the supreme credit for herself: the habit was hard to get rid of.

‘My dear, all the credit shall be yours then,’ she said handsomely. ‘It was your stroke of genius. I copied it out very carelessly as if I had scribbled it off without thought. That was a nice touch, don’t you think? The effect? Colossal, so Irene tells me, for I could not be there myself. That was only yesterday. A few desperate wriggles from Elizabeth, but of course no good. I do not suppose there was a more thoroughly thwarted woman in all Sussex than she.’

Georgie gave a discreet little giggle.