She hadn’t altered. Her clothes were different—foreign, and smart—but her hair was red, and although I could see she wasn’t beautiful I thought she was. She had such colour, such brightness, that sometimes she reminded me of the whirling mosaics, except that she wasn’t fragmented but unusually complete. She seemed, if anything, younger than I remembered her. Only one thing surprised me—I didn’t recognize her voice and I had thought I would.

She said as she entered, ‘My dears ...’ in a very English fashion, and she said all the usual phrases, and then to me, ‘I hope you’re doing the right thing.’

‘Now then, Lili,’ said my mother.

‘You must just forget I’m here,’ said Lili. ‘You must go on with the preparations as though you were alone. I promise I won’t even offer to help. I shan’t get in the way for a moment.’

‘Where’s Robert?’ inquired my mother accusingly. ‘I thought Robert was coming with you.’

‘Oh, he is,’ said Lili. ‘Robert always comes with me. He had to see a man about a gallery.’

‘Will he be here for dinner?’ asked my mother, the cook briefly taking precedence over the hostess.

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Lili. ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment.’ She moved to the foot of the stairs. ‘Am I in the same room?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Lili,’ said my mother.

I thought she sounded rather as though she too had forgotten the essence of Lili, was now reminded and was regretting her invitation.

‘Margaret will help you up with your bags.’

Lili glanced at me. ‘You look quite strong,’ she said, picking up the largest of the suitcases and dragging it up the stairs. ‘I remember the smell of this house. I remember you when you were little.’

In the bedroom she turned to me, ‘You look tired,’ she observed. ‘Aren’t you sleeping?’

‘I sleep too much,’ I said, startled into the truth.

‘It sometimes takes one that way,’ she said obscurely, hunting through her handbag for her cigarettes and lighter.

My stomach tightened. My mother took a firm line on smoking in bedrooms.

Lili lit her cigarette and looked in the mirror.

‘Hag,’ she addressed herself.

‘I’d forgotten how loud and exhausting she could be,’ remarked my mother later as I peeled the potatoes.

I looked nervously at her face, but it wore a smile, a reminiscent smile that I hadn’t seen before.

‘She was expelled from school,’ said my mother. ‘But I never thought she was really bad—just mischievous and high- spirited.’