It was all too difficult, she thought, it is getting beyond me, I can’t reason or manage it any more. Staring wretchedly at the Triton spouting water, she felt as lost and bewildered as she had at the Schwarzbrücke looking up the hill to the petrified snake of the Wall writhing through the ruined Lamsfeld orchards.

The unreal had come face to face with the real.

Thus it seemed to her, standing forlorn by the pool, that the demons were upon her, the light in the courtyard had dimmed, the breeze had cooled.

Head bent, eyes rimmed with thin tears of helplessness, arms tightly about her body, she trod across the gravel to the house, into the cool hall, the silent drawing-room, the shaded terrace. All empty. Silent, save for the soft bubbling of the frog-fountain. Down the steps on to the lawn, a scent of warm pines, honeysuckle; at the far end, a smudge of blue. Cuckoo’s shirt … and Cuckoo crossing the grass towards a high hedge. Disappearing.

She stood for a moment, hands to face, wiped her eyes, found herself running on urgent feet down the springy turf to seek comfort.

Beyond the hedge, the vegetable gardens, and among the beans, peas and lettuce, the flowering heads of onion like lavender gong-hammers, Cuckoo on a milking stool, weeding. A wide straw hat, blue shirt, barefoot. She looked across the gong-hammers, waved her handfork.

‘I was feeling rather fidgety: weeding helps me calm down. I don’t know why. I mean why I was fidgety. That boy gone then? Marcus? Off to that foul ship?’

‘Yes: he’s gone, just now.’

‘Stubborn youth. I can’t imagine why. Have you got hay fever?’

‘No. I just sneezed.’

‘Be an angel and bring that old box over, will you. Just beside you, mind the prickles; you haven’t any shoes on.’

‘I like bare feet, don’t you?’

‘Always wear them. Love the feeling of hot dust between my toes, do you know? Very earthy, of the earth, peasanty-real. Very real.’

‘Real. Yes. Could I help you?’

‘Well, if you want to. Can you tell a weed from a lettuce?’

‘I think so.’

‘Uncertain. Well: look, this here, this red thing, Treviso. All the rest are weeds. Guard the red, rip up the rest. This is the stuff to look for, see?’ She held up a bunch of clover-like leaves. ‘The dreaded oxalis. Never had it here before I went and bought four bales of Russian peat and now we can’t get rid of it. Tonnino has never forgiven me. Frightful stuff, spreads everywhere, impossible to eliminate, very subversive; like their Faith.’ She threw a handful into the box. ‘Minerva back from the hospital?’

‘No. I didn’t see.’