Or was that me? I started that, I rather fear. Me. He started the ‘growing old together’ bit. I suppose that I caught it from him, I mean about growing old. In dignity, and so on. But it’s all in the mind, isn’t it? Really? When a man with a Narcissus complex falls out of love with himself and finds that he is unattractive sexually, then what can one do? I ask you. And you’ll get no answer from me at this late stage of the day. Not my department: far, far too complicated that one. How about a little drink? A bucker-up for Cuckoo who has been ever so slightly overdoing things. Silly mutt.

She turned and started walking across the shaded grass towards the cliff. And get your mind off YOU. In capital letters. Far too wrapped up in yourself, that’s what. Do admit? All in the mind, remember.

At the top of the steps leading steeply down to the pool, two lichened stone pillars were arched with a rampant Albertine. A long briar dragged at the edge of her hat. Clippers. Someone will get scratched. She tucked it neatly back among thorny stems. Petals fell. Such a short season, almost over. Back to yourself again! Do stop equating. Off you go, my gel.

She started down the steep steps, holding tightly to the iron rail. Below her, Marcus and the lady Film Star chopping the turquoise water into fragments, light winking and sparkling like compliments.

At the edge of the pool she stopped, leant forward, hands thrust between her knees, the coral rope swinging from her neck. Marcus had just surfaced from a wild somersault; the Film Star screamed, thrashing water, ‘Be careful for my hair!’

He shook his head, water spraying from him like glass pellets. He saw her and swam across, blowing bubbles through the turbulence.

‘Hello.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

‘Is it absolutely lovely?’

‘Absolutely. Coming in? Come on, be brave.’

‘Not a question of courage, question of a little chilled glass of wine. Want one?’

He reached up, placed his hands on her bare sandalled feet. Held firm. ‘Ten red toe nails.’

‘Alarming if there were twelve. Do admit? Where’s Leni?’

‘Gone up to the point with the Kraut, Ach soing and Bitte schoening each other. Awful sound. Coming in then? Do.’

‘And Signora Scarlatti … Minna? They here, no?’

‘No. Gone up to the house. To have a look round.’ He stroked her ankle.

The Film Star had heaved herself out of the water, sat at the far end of the pool pinning up her hair.

‘I’m going to have a look round too. At the bar. For my glass of wine.’

He grinned up at her.

‘For my wine. Please? Let me go.’

He pressed a toe hard. ‘This little piggy went to market …’

She pulled her foot away swiftly. ‘This little piggy’s going to the bar.’