For the last few weeks, Lulu had been working for a dog-walking agency in Hampstead: the pay was negligible but, as Fee was given to cheer herself, at least it got her into the fresh air.

“You’d have an easier time of the separation than we did in my day,” said Fee now. “We didn’t have e-mail or Skype or any of the things you girls take for granted now. When I first came to London, I used to write letters home to my mom once a week.”

“We know, Mom,” said Lulu. “With a quill pen under a guttering candle before dining on roast dinosaur and poached pterodactyl eggs.”

“Did you like London?” said Emma. “When you first came here?”

“It was a challenge at first,” said Fee. “There weren’t so many nonEnglish people living here back then, and at first I felt quite out of place as a foreigner. But your father, who really is a very kind and wonderful man—”

“He’s a marvelous man,” Sophie told Lulu. Fee had lately adopted the habit of taking every opportunity to remind her daughters of David’s good qualities.

“He’s an okay sort of man,” conceded Lulu.

“He’s a spectacular man,” said Sophie. “He’s a magnificent man. He’s a—”

“Will you two shut up?” said Emma.

“Your father was a great help,” continued Fee. “He showed me around, helped me find my feet, didn’t expect me to fit in perfectly straightaway. He knew, Emma, that I was making quite a compromise in moving here. But he was also smart enough to know that once I’d got the feel of London, I’d very much enjoy it, and, as it turned out, I do. It’s a wonderful city, and I love my life here.”

“Well, you would,” said Emma. “It’s London.”

“You know, I might come and visit you in North Dakota,” said Sophie. “I’ve seen all the movies about American small towns. I’ll let my hair grow long and wear tight jeans and skimpy tops and have affairs with all the married men.”

“You will not,” said Fee sharply.

“Just joking, Mom.” Sophie stared at her mother in surprise.

“Well, don’t.” Collecting herself, Fee tapped Sophie lightly on the top of the head with the newspaper. “I’ve seen rather too much of that lately in my work, and I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my sense of humor about it. It’s only temporary, I’ll have it back by Christmas.”

“Okay, Mom. No accepting the lead in The Scarlet Letter before then, I promise. Ooh.” She gulped at her coffee, and waved a hand for attention. “That reminds me, I might have some news. Jamie’s friend Rhys, who is an awesomely creative guy who runs an experimental theater company in Coventry, telephoned him on Friday. They want two talking skateboards by next weekend, so we’re going up to talk to him about it tomorrow.”

“Excuse me.” Emma shook her head, as if doubting her hearing. “Did you just say talking skateboards?”

“They were rehearsing all yesterday,” said Lulu. “You’d be amazed at the range of emotions recreational planks of wood are capable of.”