Drinking her coffee, she watched the birds in the garden and planned her bonfire. She would cut back the buddleia and prune the forsythia neglected last autumn; she would trim the philadelphus and rake up the soggy leaves so that the air could get at the grass and the bulbs get a chance to shoot; she would collect the fallen branches from the apple trees; the bonfire would smell wonderful.

But first she must attend to Nicholas and Emily. She let the cat out into the garden, walked round the house and let herself in at the front door.

For a few moments she stood in the hall, listening. Her grandfather’s long-case clock tocked in a corner; upstairs Nicholas coughed. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she saw the hall table littered with opened letters, a newspaper, a vase of dead flowers. Beyond it the umbrella stand, which she had forgotten until now, had held that shabby but distinguished umbrella belonging to the stranger who had helped her get drunken Nicholas and intoxicated Emily into the house and onto the drawing-room sofas and then Bonzo had ungratefully bitten him. No! It was Emily who had bitten him and when Bonzo had attacked he had said: ‘Die for Eastbourne.’ Where on earth did he spring from?

As Bonzo, having heard her, rose from his basket in the kitchen and came hurrying to greet her, Laura began to laugh. She greeted the dog and set off up the stairs in high good humour, resolving as she went to be agreeable to her parents, make light of her responsibilities, enjoy them.

Nicholas and Emily were sitting up in bed when Laura and Bonzo arrived upstairs.

‘Darling!’ exclaimed Emily. ‘You came.’

‘Answered our distress signal. What a trooper you are,’ cried Nicholas.

Laura sat on the edge of the bed, smiling. ‘Not dead yet, I see,’ she said, ‘nor do you seem to be dying.’ She leaned forward to peruse their faces, rather flushed and blotchy. ‘What a couple of old frauds!’

‘We are seriously ill,’ protested Nicholas. ‘The doctor has given us antibiotics.’

‘Good.’

‘He listened to our chests with his thingy; said mine was like a squeezebox, terrible.’

‘He said my nipples are like a baby’s.’ Emily laughed, her laughter choking into a wheeze.

‘Don’t laugh,’ said Nicholas. ‘It makes you worse. A new doctor, Laura, a personable young man, the very sight of him made Emily feel better. He might do for you.’

‘Nobody will do for her,’ said Emily.

‘No.’ Both old people choked with laughter.

Laura poured water and passed a glass to each patient. She wondered what the personable doctor had made of this pretty pair.

‘Of course Nicholas was in his own room while the visit went on,’ wheezed Emily, catching Laura’s eye.