There is a halfway moment when one suddenly knows that it is all going to be quite all right: it is going as one had hoped; a picnic on a grand scale and everyone is delighted to be there and happy that they came.

The first half hour is always a little uneasy: people stand about like cattle, they laugh too loudly, admire extravagantly, cry out in sudden greeting, exclaim in over-stressed wonder, all a little strained. The herd unnerved in an unfamiliar pasture. But once they have sniffed the air, scented no danger, found the boundaries, moved cautiously about, discovered where to sit, and someone to share the seat, have accepted the first glass of champagne, seen the familiar face, been led to the bar, then they begin to relax and take advantage of the splendours all about them for which they know they will not be asked to pay. The party, the picnic, is off. And Cuckoo, sensing this moment, breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she zephyred, as she called it, from group to group, greeting, laughing, praising, introducing, mixing and arranging, leaving behind her when she left little eddies of laughter and delight. She was an old hand at the game: and did it effortlessly. Apparently. To her infinite pleasure she was aware that Marcus and Leni were following her lead with diligence. He, flashing like a golden oriole in his yellow pants among the hens, peacocks, and guinea fowl of the garden aviary; Leni modestly, elegantly, slight as an egret, and as graceful. Neither was gauche, neither shy, both assured, both confident with the sense of ‘belonging’ which she had bestowed upon them.

‘You aren’t one of Harriet’s brood, are you?’ someone had asked Marcus, and his reply had delighted her.

‘Oh no!’ he had said. ‘No. I’m not a real godson, you see. I’m just part of the collection. Cuckoo collects us like some people collect stamps or paperweights or potlids. She finds us all over the place.’

‘Ah yes … a great collector, Cuckoo.’

‘But I hope that you’ll agree,’ said Marcus, ‘that she does it with a very discerning eye?’

Ten out of ten for that, thought Cuckoo with satisfaction, and went to greet the dreaded Courtneys who were looking about for photographers with expectant smiles.