Marianne had spent the day preparing food for one of the dinner parties Ralph’s new business venture obliged her to give. I was laying the table on the patio when Martin suddenly appeared at my side. She could still see the insects buzzing around the lamps and the rose bushes like spectres in the dusk, their perfume lending sweetness to the humid air. I had to slap Martin’s hand to stop him from making short work of the cocktail snacks awaiting the guests on the outdoor bar Ralph had rigged up.

A year had passed since Martin came down from Oxford and met Moira, and Marianne had with mixed feelings watched her son head towards the dilemma with which she herself was faced at his age.

His unexpected arrival that evening was due to his not having been invited to Lord Kyverdale’s birthday party, and Marianne relived the indignation that had gripped her then. But wasn’t it like that for Moira with our family? Not for them nor for us was there any chance that the outsider would convert. As things turned out, though, it was necessary for both families to let the outsider in.

For Martin that evening was his moment of decision and he had asked Marianne how she would feel if her grandchildren were baptized. She had known that if she told him it would break her heart, he would not marry the girl he loved. Instead she had said that what she wanted was for him to be happy.

Sixteen years later, all the evidence was to the contrary. She watched her grandson take an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it, his expression thoughtful.

‘About what you asked me, Gran—’

‘Would you mind reminding me what it was?’

‘I did take rather a long time to answer, didn’t I? You wanted to know if it’s important to me for this to be my second home. Well, it’s like this, Gran. I often feel like coming here, but everyone knows about you and your work. If this is my second home, though, I needn’t take that into account.’

‘That’s excellent reasoning, A.P. I’ll let you have a key and then you can come whenever you like, and if I’m working it won’t interrupt me. You have my permission to tiptoe into my study to bring me a mug of tea!’

‘A sensible arrangement if I may say so, Gran. When can I have the key?’

Marianne did not know whether to laugh or to cry, but of course she did neither. Had he still been a small child, she would have taken him on her lap for a cuddle. That there were times when the lad needed somewhere and someone to run to was plain. Given the strife in his home, it wasn’t surprising.