I was at least as disconcerted as my parents had to be. How engrossed in reading must I have been not to notice a visitor? My aunt had been in her studio for hours, and I’d finished a book in the garden before retiring to the front room. My mother gave me a look no less unconvinced than reproachful as we trooped into the hall. The man was descending the stairs, resting his fingertips above each upright of the banister like a mountain climber wielding a stick he didn’t need. “You’ll be the Semples,” he said.

He was tall and imposingly broad, with a wide nose and mouth and large pale blue eyes, but he conveyed an odd impression of withholding some of himself. His long ears were big enough to border on a joke, but presumably he didn’t mind, since his blond hair was cropped well short of them. He wore black: T-shirt, slacks, socks and shoes. “And you’ll be…” my mother said, despite knowing perfectly well.

“Call me Abel. Thelma does.”

He leaned down from the third stair to offer a hand, which my father accepted. “Jonathan,” he said.

He shook the hand, and then my mother barely did. “Astrid,” she said with no tone at all. “Thelma’s sister.”

“And I’ve been seeing this young man. I believe his name’s Patrick.”

The firmness of his handshake gave a sense that it could easily turn firmer. He was still on the stair, which made me feel he was reaching down from a height to indulge my status. “What do you mean,” my mother said, “you’ve been seeing him?”

“I was in the studio while he was down below.”

As my mother’s lips parted with a dry determined sound, my aunt appeared on the landing. “Oh, you’ve met,” she said.

“Would you rather we hadn’t?” my mother retorted.

“I should say not.” This came from Abel, who released my hand and rose to his full height on the stairs. “Whyever would she?” he said.

“Pardon me,” my mother said, though not as if she wanted it, “I was talking to my sister.”

“I just wanted to introduce you myself, Astrid,” my aunt said.

“Why, what would you have said to clear things up?”

“Just this is Abel,” my aunt said as she came downstairs, “and now you know it twice. Is everyone ready for dinner?”

“Will you be staying, Abel?” my mother said.

She plainly didn’t care whether he found this uninviting. His stance put me in mind of a guard, presumably protecting my aunt if she needed it rather than barring her way. As she reached him he poised his fingertips on the banister once more and descended into the hall with a single lithe movement that made my mother retreat a step. “I believe I’m invited,” he said.

“You don’t need to be,” my aunt assured him, “but you are.”