He looks down, as if trying to remember. “I seem to recall it was a packing case that savaged it. I was trying to clean up my studio.”

“The place is a tip,” adds his wife.

“Un bordel,” translates the man. Rat and Morgan exchange glances at this faintly racy word.

Gillem looks at Morgan, as if for the first time. “Hel-lo,” he says, with the same upward lilt as his wife. “Who’s this?”

“This is my brother, Morgan.”

He pats Morgan on the shoulder. “Salut, Morgan.”

At the end of dinner, a boy in striped flannel pajamas, squinting against the light, appears on the stairs. He’s clutching a large plush pig. He is rail-thin, high-shouldered, with his mother’s cherubic red lips and curly brown hair. He looks very young.

“Artemio,” his mother says, in exaggerated reproach. “What are you doing out of bed? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I can’t get to sleep,” the boy complains, although he’s clearly been asleep.

“But darling, you must. It’s a school night. It’s almost eleven.”

He hovers, staring at the newcomers. Then he catches sight of the bottle of medicine on the dining room table that Kate has produced for Morgan.

“Is that for me?”

“No, darling, it’s for Morgan. He’s ill. Come say hello. This is Celia and this is Morgan. Morgan is nine.” She holds out a hand.

Artemio hangs back, still staring at the guests. “I’m ill, too. My throat hurts,” he quavers. “I think I’ve got a temperature. I need some Calpol. Now.”

Kate rises.

“Shall I do it?” asks Gillem, also getting to his feet.

“I’ll do it.” Kate leads her son back upstairs, leaving Gillem for the first time alone with Rat and Morgan.

“Where did you say you were living now?” Gillem asks. They have cleared the table and are loading the dishes into the dishwasher.

“Saint Féliu,” says Rat.

“I’m afraid I don’t know it. Is it nice?”

Rat’s never thought about whether or not it’s nice. It’s her home.

“It’s on the beach,” she volunteers, finally.

“That sounds lovely. Do you like to swim, Morgan?”

“No,” says Morgan, snuffling.

“He’s scared of sharks,” Rat explains.

“Quite right, too,” says Gillem. “Nasty creatures.”

There’s an awkward pause. Then, “Are you anywhere near Collioure?”

“A bit farther north.”

“Ah. I used to love that coast. One of the most enchanted places in Europe. I suppose it’s probably spoiled by now?”

Rat doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“Lots of new development? Hotels?”

“No, not too bad.”

“My mother used to rent a house outside Collioure, right over the cliffs. It was absolutely stunning.”

“I know,” says Rat. “The house is still there.”

He laughs awkwardly, as if made uneasy by her knowing more about him than he does about her.

“You never went back?” she asks.