‘Anyone who brings me a gift is forgiven instantly. How lovely! I can open it now?’

‘If you care…’

‘Oh, I do.’ She unwrapped the soft tissue paper, a spilling of tiny corals on a slender chain in her hand. ‘Oh! How beautiful … how exquisite!’

‘They were my great grandmother’s. But I never wear them.’

She laughed suddenly. ‘Help me with the clasp, will you? If I take off my hat you’ll see that my hair is like a nest. Too awful.’

‘I am forgiven?’

‘I am ravished. How kind.’ She took his hand. It was hard and cool as steel. ‘Now come and have a delicious glass of wine. Minerva told me you prefer the German whites? Or champagne?’

They moved together through the crowd. She saw Archie coming quickly towards them and, to her relief, a sudden flash of yellow at the far end of the lawns, as Marcus disappeared out of sight between the tall pillars leading down to the pool.

The sonorous booming of a vast copper gong, struck with fiendish force by Bruna from the top of the terrace, summoned the guests to their luncheon. To the long white table on which now were displayed towering pyramids of scarlet écrevisses, lobsters in the half-shell glistening on dark green beds of watercress, platters of cold fowl, bowls of every salad imaginable, tiny amber shrimps, rosy prawns, baskets piled high with brown and speckled eggs, salmon bemedalled with cucumber and truffles, and in the very centre, buried in a great block of ice, a crystal bowl brimming with raspberries and a silver dish heavy with golden cream.

‘Things,’ said Cuckoo, ‘one can eat with a fork or fingers … it is a picnic after all.’

‘Which has nothing to do with sandwiches on Box Hill,’ said Marcus carrying a plate down the steps.

‘Marcus! You aren’t eating only that?’ She stopped him at the edge of the lawn.

‘It’s not for me. For the Duc d’Auribeau. He asked me to get him just a quail and a little glass of Chablis.’

‘That isn’t your job. You mustn’t wait on the guests. You and Leni have done your work quite marvellously, that’s enough now! Simply enjoy yourselves.’

‘I am enjoying myself. He’s a knock-out. We’re having a terrific flirt, can’t keep his hands off.’

‘Oh God! Has he gone wild?’

‘He’s great. Your fault really: these yellow pants. He said he may not be able to see very well, but he can still distinguish form. His Braille is bang on.’

‘That’s a terribly old joke.’

‘He’s a terribly old man, you said.’

‘Nearly ninety, must be; you’re being corrupted.’

‘Pinched my bottom three times, given me a quick grope and invited me to St Tropez on his yacht for Saturday.’

‘Have you accepted?’

His smile faded, he shook his head, eyes steady. ‘Said you’d made me a better offer.’

She held his look. Her hand moved uncertainly to the corals at her throat.