“What wouldn’t you do for those brats of yours! I sometimes think you’d boil me in oil if it afforded them pleasure.”

I laugh despite myself.

“Would you like some cocoa?”

We go into the kitchen and I turn on the light. You sit down at the table while I put a pan of milk to heat on the stove.

“Do you remember the moth tree?” you ask suddenly.

I put a spoon of cocoa into two mugs and look up.

“You know—the one Father painted with treacle in St. Ives so that we could catch moths. I always had mixed feelings about it.”

“I remember Father’s collection. Everything in strict alphabetical order with the name written out underneath.”

I pour the milk into the mugs and sit down opposite you at the table.

“I used to think that was what adult life was like. Everything organized and in its place.” I gaze round the kitchen. There are dirty dishes in the sink, a mound of clothes waiting to be washed by the tub. I sigh.

“My adult life has turned out exactly the opposite.” I gather up some unfinished drawings on the table and put them to one side. “Bits and pieces, like the scraps of sewing at the bottom of Mother’s work basket. Nothing finished, nothing made good.”

You stare at me.

“At least you have all the strands. They’re in your hands.”

“By that reckoning every adult life’s a success!”

You shrug.

“No, Ness. You hold the light. Then there are lonely moths like me circling the lamp, searching for a way in.”

“I knew you’d make a scene out of it! So what about all the other people sitting round the table tonight? How do they feature in your sketch?”

You lean back and gaze at me steadily.

“They personify the different voices—emblematized by the moth.”

“Sounds like the start for one of your novels.”

I read down the guest list and wonder, too late, if it was wise to invite so many people. To quell my fears I pace up and down, surveying the furniture Duncan and I have painted. Scarcely an object has been left untouched: there are murals on the walls, and even the piano in the center of the room has been decorated. At one end there is a display of the items we hope to sell.

Roger is the first to arrive.

“It’s a triumph! You will be feted and adored across London!”

I smile at his flattery. He has scarcely even glanced at our things. Before I can tease him, other guests appear. I station myself behind the drinks table and hand out glasses of punch. I try not to hear what is being said about our work.

I spy Lytton in a corner of the room and wave to him. He comes across at once.