‘Now,’ said Cuckoo, replacing her glass. ‘We’ll go up. Just remember what I told you: be awfully sweet to the Duc d’Auribeau, he’s almost ninety, blind as a bat, was a very famous gardener, and had the most lovely house in Tangier with a heavenly water-garden and a harem of quite delicious Arab boys, and his fourth wife, Sophie, who will be with him is terribly sweet, breeds wolf-hounds and is an authority on Kakiemon porcelain. And then try and avoid, as politely as you can, the Courtneys; he’s the Film Star, and his wife wears diamonds in the morning, you’ll recognize them instantly. They’re deeply “in” with the Monaco Set and all that Palace tra la la, “Grace” and “Rainier” – but one has to have them, she’s British, it is tiresome … and then of course we have the Italians.’ She looked apprehensively across the wide pool to the bay beyond and the slender white shape of the Papageno riding at anchor. ‘One does so hope they can speak some English. Minna says they all can, but one never knows … it makes things awfully difficult. And Grottorosso: I’m simply terrified of meeting him. Archie says he is rather unnerving; stubborn as well.’ She tucked her silk shirt into her wide belt, straightened her straw hat. ‘But so is Archie. Stubborn, I mean. When he likes. I think we’ll leave him to deal with Grottorosso; after all he is the main reason they’ve come … to talk about the film-thing. I should keep your distance,’ she said turning to Marcus. ‘You and Leni leave the elders to themselves, once they’ve all arrived, and go off and keep the young amused.’

Marcus drained his glass. ‘Don’t worry. We will, promise.’

‘There’s a ravishing lady film star for you, Minna says, and a handsome German gentleman, one for Leni…’

‘I know,’ said Leni.

‘Well there. The briefing’s over. The Auribeaus, the dreaded Reggie Courtneys, worrying Grottorosso … and of course fifty others, but they’ll all leave by five. I don’t “do” teas, you see. And then it’ll just be the Italians … if they want to stay.’ She pushed up the brim of her hat and looked down once again at the Papageno. ‘It’s all a tiny bit of a worry really: but there we are. Not a real cloud in the sky, otherwise … a perfect summer’s day. One does so dread a sudden storm, but I think we’ll be lucky. I cross fingers; they can come up so suddenly here.’ She went towards the staircase. ‘One year there was the most awful Mistral. It just happened without warning really … all the table cloths flew about the garden like demented Nuns, and one got stuck on the lighthouse down at the point.’ She stretched her hands towards them.

‘Come along, off we go! The curtain goes up!’