Later they began to adopt and recover friends. There was Aubrey Silk. Willy said he thought Aubrey was rather an owl, but a nice owl. Catherine said she thought probably a lizard, a yellow lizard, with an air of dated formality, like a Tenniel drawing. And discovering this, it drew her closer to Aubrey, whom she would have quite liked, ordinarily, but who promoted her wit, and for this reason was to be liked and patronized some more. Aubrey lived at Regent’s Park. He had a fortune and a collection of Impressionist paintings. He hoped to wean Willy away from paint, said Aubrey, by asking him often to his house. Sometimes he went to the studio, sat looking carefully at his toe, and talked about romanesque churches and wine. But without looking at the paintings. He avoided these.

Maudie Westmacott was a different proposition. Willy might have thought twice about introducing Maudie to his wife, if Kitty hadn’t been a good sort as well as being his wife. But this somehow made it right. And there was no reason why they shouldn’t have fun together. Kitty said she thought so too. She kissed Maudie on the cheek. And Maudie kissed Kitty. She talked to her on the telephone and called her Kitty darling. She sent her a present of grouse when she had a present of too many from a peer. Because opening a show at the Gaiety with a song, the show was called Thumbs Up, at the time when Kitty and Maudie met, there was always plenty of grouse. Maudie told Kitty a great deal about her life, all the people she had met, she had met a great many, names that for Kitty had the lustre of possibly distinguished names, and she sang all the songs she had sung in all her shows, it was usually the opening song, after which Maudie lapsed into one of a dozen girls and a variety of dresses. But anonymity never worried Maudie. There was always the General. She had a little house in St John’s Wood. And people in restaurants stared at the star sapphires that she wore.

Sometimes they made a party, Kitty and Willy, and Maudie and a friend of Maudie’s. They went to the Grafton Galleries. Or they went to a restaurant after the show, one of the plushy, intimate places that make you sad or gay, according to the company you’re in. But Kitty was usually gay. At supper her head was full of popular songs and the names of the people Maudie met, she harboured in fact no actively disturbing thought, frequently no thought at all, for it was difficult not to be influenced by that kind of environment. And Willy loved her. Maudie said it made her cry to see two people in love. She could cry at will. It was her most admired accomplishment. She sat there, in a pearl dog-collar that the General gave, and a hat with an aigrette. She sat and cried. Then when everybody clapped, she ordered a second bottle of fizz.