He had met her parents once and only briefly, and was surprised that this solidly fleshed couple, conventional, well dressed and physically unremarkable, should have produced such an exotic child. He loved to look at her, the pale oval face, dark hair cut in a fringe over slightly slanted eyes which gave her a faintly Oriental attraction. She came from a background as privileged as his and, despite her efforts, had never succeeded in losing all evidence of a good general education. But the despised bourgeois values and appurtenances had been rejected in the service of her art, and in speech and appearance she had become Abbie, the wayward daughter of a publican, in a television soap set in a Suffolk village. When they had first come together, her acting prospects had been bright. There were then plans for an affair with the church organist, a pregnancy and an illegal operation, and general mayhem in the village. But there had been complaints from viewers that this country idyll was beginning to compete with EastEnders, and the rumour now was that Abbie was to be redeemed. There was even a suggestion of a faithful marriage and virtuous motherhood. As Beverley complained, it was a disaster. Already her agent was putting out feelers to capitalise on her present notoriety while it lasted. Francis—he was Benton only to his colleagues at the Met—had no doubt that the lunch would be a success. His parents were always curious to learn about the mysterious worlds to which they had no access, and Beverley would be happy to provide a spirited rendering of the latest plot, probably with dialogue.