Cuckoo closed her book, marking the place with a slip of card.

‘You gave me the most awful shock. I was utterly lost in Larousse … something quite delicious for tomorrow. Lunch. Does this monstrous creature eat anything? Or is he what Nanny used to call “choosy” about his food?’

‘Well … not anything. He has fastidious tastes in all directions, as I told you. No battery hens or veal … because of the hormones.’

‘We don’t have battery hens. Archie’s terrified too. And Bruna. I think in the end we’ll just have a sort of picnic, pâté, cheese, crudités. Larousse is worse than Mrs Beeton; at least she was bourgeoise, but Larousse hasn’t quite come to terms with the French Revolution. We’ll keep it simple for tomorrow, first “working day” after all.’

‘Well, for God’s sake don’t fuss … he’ll be happy with a salad. I’m going to have a night cap … you too?’

She poured herself a generous drink.

Cuckoo joined her, put her arm round the bony shoulders, hugged her. ‘I’ve never been very far behind you, have I? It’s absolutely “deevy” having you back again … the years fade away. Golly! How we’ve laughed … a Scotch sur les jolies roches. Have you been down at the pool?’

‘Watching your “pretties”, the dolphins. They really are divine … and she’s wild! That hair, that voice. They’re coming up in a moment.’

Cuckoo raised her glass. ‘He’s not bad either, is he? Quite dishy.’

‘Terrific! And you picked him up just like that! Trust you! The only thing I ever picked up when I fell down was myself.’ She settled comfortably in the corner of a deep settee, patted a place beside her. ‘Come sit here, you look quite weary. Far too many of us, I didn’t know you had a full house … I feel so mean.’

‘Well don’t,’ said Cuckoo sitting beside her and putting her feet up on the low malachite table. ‘I’m happy as could be. I love too many people, always have … but wasn’t I lucky? About him? Being fished out by a “scrumptious”! I mean, he could so easily have been old and fat, or one of those bulgy Dutch tourists who gobble at one all the time.. I’d rather have drowned really. He gave me the most terrific belt across the face … did I tell you?’

‘Good grief! Why?’

‘Well … I was sort of snorting and choking, you know, swallowed water … so on. Very messy.’

‘You must have been terrified.’

Cuckoo laughed gently. ‘Not half as terrified as I am of meeting your odd nephew, Count Grottorosso, tomorrow. Ashen with terror I am. Ashen. He sounds too frightening for words … do admit?’

‘Not frightening. Baroque, I’d say.’

‘Well, that’s bad enough, I’m really not awfully good at baroque. I like nice simple lines. All that sparkle and glitter and wedding-cakery business is fearfully exhausting.’