Down the table, Martin is shaking his head regretfully. “. . . no specific plans. A summer of boredom stretches ahead. How about you, Paul?” He looks across the table to where Paul is sitting a little slumped now, an empty glass in his hands.

“We usually opt for a villa.” Paul waves the stub of his cigar. “We might try southern Italy this summer. Izzy likes her water sports. I’ll probably hire a boat.”

Izzy’s turned thirteen; she’s made all these new friends. She might not want to spend her holidays with her parents anymore, there could be battles ahead. Melissa’s heart sinks.

Eve leans into the candlelight, her face is flushed. “I’ve just had the most brilliant idea.” She has a dimple Melissa hasn’t seen until now, a shadowy little pit on her right cheek. “Every August we stay in my father’s old house in the Peloponnese.” Eve’s voice catches with excitement. “You could join us out there next month, all of you.” She gazes around. Her eyes glitter; they look different somehow, larger perhaps. It may be the makeup, which Melissa has never seen her wear before tonight. “It’s a paradise for kids, hundreds of olive trees to get lost among,” Eve continues. “Why not come too?”

There is a gasp. Melissa isn’t sure whose, was it her? She glances at Grace, who scarcely takes a day off, according to Martin. They obviously have no money to spare for holidays or travel. Grace is looking at her husband, her face is expressionless; perhaps she thinks the invitation is just one of those spur-of-the-moment things, well meant but unreal.

“That’s so kind of you.” Melissa touches Eve’s hand. “But there must be heaps we can do in London without imposing—”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition. We converted the outhouses over there specially for guests. We could all be as private as we wanted to be.”

“Far too generous,” Paul says. His words are a little slurred now. “We couldn’t possibly accept.”

“Our children would love the company,” Eve continues, as though she hasn’t heard him. She looks as eager as a child. “I could teach them in the mornings if you like. You can do whatever you want, read or sleep. There’s a pool that my father put in. It’s very peaceful; ideal for writing,” she adds, with a smiling glance at Martin.

“This is the kind of thing my wife does,” Eric murmurs. “There will be no dissuading her. I think she feels guilty that we don’t make more use of it.”

“Guilt has nothing to do with it.” The pink deepens. “You’re always telling me to do what my heart tells me to; well, that’s exactly what I’m doing now.” She looks around, nodding seriously. “I really want you all to come.”

Martin is watching closely; his eyes flick between husband and wife: Eric’s tone, his glance, Eve’s response; the silent exchange under the spoken one. Perhaps he’s storing it all for a novel, perhaps he’s been watching her and Paul too. She closes her eyes; she needs to think this through. Izzy would be happy, surrounded by the other children. Paul would spend time with Eric; she could relax for once, sit in the sun, swim, sleep. The warmth would be healing. There would be friends to talk to, Eve and maybe Grace. The offer bobs in front of her like a raft sent for rescue. No one speaks. Eve reaches for Ash and takes him back onto her lap, the dimple has vanished. The raft is bobbing by, soon it will be gone.