Even when the two of them are talking between themselves—Kate wanting to know from Gillem if the plumber’s been by, or if he remembered to give Mirjana her grocery money—they insist on speaking French, so Rat won’t feel left out. She has never in her life felt more solicitously catered to. In all matters except the essential.

But as for the reason Rat is here, the McKanes are as evasive as minnows. It’s not that they don’t acknowledge, at least tacitly, that Rat is some kind of kin to them. It’s more that nothing that Rat had expected to follow from this kinship—the family anecdotes, the bringing out of photograph albums and old letters, the Oh, you’ve obviously inherited your great-uncle Hector’s taste for raw beef—above all, the being looked in the eye and told, finally, This is where you come from and who you are—has been forthcoming. She might as well be a foreign student come to London on an exchange program.

And so inhibiting does Rat find their reserve that she can no longer even conceive of asking Gillem any of the million things she needs to know. All she can do, in fact, is look at him. Look at him, and try to figure out from his gestures, his face, who he is and what it means.

Gillem, Kate has intimated, is under enormous stress working night and day on a commission. Maybe when he’s got it well under way, he will be more relaxed and approachable.

Kate turns around. “I thought I’d give them soldiers—that’s soft-boiled eggs and buttered toast. Is that all right?”

“Oh yeah, sounds great. I might add a green salad, if you don’t mind. Morgan likes his vegetables.” She yawns and stretches again.

“Would you like to eat with the Littlies tonight?” Kate smiles.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What are the boys up to? Are they getting along all right?”

“They’re fine. They’re playing with Morgan’s football cards.”

“Oh good, I’m so glad. Artie can be a bit … overbearing, sometimes.” Kate pauses. “I need to have a word with you.”

Rat’s heart sinks. Already? Are they going to have to leave so soon? Before she’s managed to have one real conversation with her father? Before she’s managed even to get news of her grandmother?

Kate pours out two cups of tea. “Milk? Sugar? Do you mind sitting in the kitchen? Gillem hates sitting in here. He thinks it’s squalid. I think in his heart he longs for a proper old-fashioned house, with a dining room and drawing room and backstairs servants’ quarters, and Artemio safely tucked away in the nursery.”

“Oh.” Rat doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. “You wanted to ask me …”