‘We’ll have ours in the hills. Back about six-ish. For supper. All right?’ He leant forward suddenly and kissed her cheek.

‘Perfectly all right. You should see Lucéram, it’s frightfully pretty.’

‘That’s a place?’

‘Before Peïra-Cava, almost in Italy. Well: not far.’

‘Great.’

‘Tell Bruna in the morning, before you leave, about no lunch.’

She watched them as they crossed the wide room and went into the hall, her hand touching her cheek.

‘Stunning,’ said Minerva. She sat carefully beside Cuckoo, eyes light with amusement. ‘He bite?’

‘Bite?’

‘Uhhuh. Your cheek? You’re still holding it.’

Cuckoo folded her hands round her glass. ‘First kiss. First time. A young kiss. Sweet.’

‘I know.’ Minerva sipped her drink, prodded the ice with the handle of her gold lorgnettes. ‘He knows, of course? Golden Boy? The Napoleon thing?’

‘l’Aiglon? Oh, of course … yes indeed. Archie told him right away, first evening. He couldn’t resist it, naturally. It is odd. To come here of all places. Do admit…’

‘Odder still for one Umberto Grottorosso. He’ll flip. I think it’s a good thing they’re off to the hills tomorrow. He’ll want him the moment he sets cold grey eyes on him … betcha.’

‘For his cinema-thing? But he’s got his l’Aiglon. You told me; anyway Marcus isn’t an actor.’

‘Neither is Wolf Hagel. Umberto was brought up in the Rossellini-Fellini School, you don’t use actors, you have real people. Less trouble, easier to bully, cheaper, and truer to life. Hagel was a waiter.’

‘Well, Leni says that Marcus is “in business” … I don’t know what. You tell your vile nephew to stick to his waiter. He’s here to see Archie, for nothing else.’

‘They’re bound to meet, aren’t they?’

‘At the picnic on Thursday, they’ll all be here from the ship.’

‘The two l’Aiglons! In person! Spot the fake! What fun!’

‘Now listen, Minna.’ Cuckoo placed her glass deliberately on the table. ‘No games on Thursday. It’s my picnic: I don’t want anything to spoil it.’

‘Cuckoo, my heart … you have a chain of coincidences running for you, it’s not my fault. I won’t say a single mot. Not a petit mot. I won’t need to; just watch Umberto when the penny drops, when the scales fall, when the chips are down. He’s greedy.’

‘Revolting and spoiled.’

‘No,’ said Minerva raising her glass. ‘Not so much spoiled as a spoiler: that’s the rub.’

From the hall a sudden cry of laughter, a clapping of hands, Leni’s voice. ‘Show Cuckoo … oh, show her! Cuckoo! Look … how fine he is, isn’t it?’

In the doorway Marcus: in the white uniform, tunic and breeches, bare feet and shins. Behind him Archie smiling anxiously.

‘You see! It quite fits, isn’t he lovely?’ Leni led him into the room by a cuff.