Now, eighteen months later, she still had not decided what it was she really did want to do with her life, and so was working through a series of temporary jobs, each one, it seemed, more unsuitable than the last, while living with her best friend, Charlie, to whom she paid rent mostly by cooking their meals and doing odd jobs around the home. Alfreda Alessandra Maria Fitzcharles—known to her friends as Charlie—and Lulu had shared a flat at university. Charlie was darkly beautiful, rather rich, and, in the eyes of the Atwaters, a little exotic, the daughter of an Irish hotelier who traveled extensively and an Italian model who had died in a plane crash when Charlie was small. The family owned a flat in Belsize Park, to which Charlie had generously invited Lulu to stay until such time as she was earning enough money for a place of her own.

Fee did not on principle approve of any of her daughters’ getting something for nothing, but consoled herself with the reflection that Lulu, a good handyman and an excellent cook, made a point of making herself useful around the flat, and it was obvious to her, besides, that Charlie enjoyed Lulu’s company. Fee worried a little about Charlie, who had little family of her own and sometimes seemed lonely to her. Charlie was here at brunch now, smiling quietly at Lulu’s clowning while liberally spreading a bagel with cream cheese which she then topped with strawberry jam—Charlie had never needed to worry about a calorie in her life.

“That is so unfair,” said Emma enviously, watching the progress of the bagel from Charlie’s plate to Charlie’s mouth. “If I ate even a quarter of that, I would be the size of a baby elephant.”

“Sorry,” said Charlie. “I’ve inherited my mother’s metabolism, it seems. It’s very irritating, I know.”

“Don’t apologize to her,” said Lulu. “She’d eat your arm to get to it if she really wanted it, wouldn’t she, Toby?” She reached down to scratch the marmalade-colored cat that sprawled on the chair next to her, blinking benignly at the proceedings. “When’s Dad coming home, Mom? Speaking of elephants.”

“Thursday, around midday,” said Fee, “depending on Air Peru. I hope he arrives quietly this time. Last autumn we converted Sophie’s old bedroom into my office, Charlie, and he still sometimes forgets that when he comes home in the daytime. Two weeks ago, I was seeing a woman who was telling me the most terribly sad story about her divorce; she was crying, I was listening and handing her tissues, and right at the very saddest point, the front door crashed shut and we heard a bellow from the hall: ‘Fee-Fee, my little bundle of naughtiness! Big Sugar Candy Daddy’s home!’ which he always thinks is hilarious. I nearly killed him.”

“You should put a note on the front door for when he arrives,” said Emma.

“That’s an idea, Emma, I might do that.” Fee smiled at her sensible eldest. “Lulu, honey, did you get my message about Professor Hamilton?”