There was not the least shred of malice in Bea Huntlee’s voice or in her manner, which was instantly apparent to Leni, whose antennae swept anxiously about seeking any form of disparagement of discouragement. As she had resolutely decided that from now on, whatever happened, Leni Minx was who she was going to be, without the least shadow of a doubt, and that Luise was to be utterly banished, she had made up her mind to complete the portrait which she had started, and almost abandoned during these last three weeks, so that it could be fixed for good and framed. She would need help. In the distant past, a past she remembered only in faint glimmers now, Mr Seeger had ‘invented’ her; from rabbit jacket to white Nō make-up. She would require advice again, and Bea Huntlee, with her extravagance and experience must surely be the person. In fairness, the awful blouse was a quick buy for a hitch-hiking trip, the sun had coloured and polished her face so that it looked like a schoolboy’s apple, and her hair had grown ragged and unkempt. But no one had seemed to mind at the villa, and during the picnic, having made a special effort, she had felt perfectly acceptable. Now that she was to be Leni Minx for ever she wanted a fixed style. She knew what, but not precisely how. She wanted the shell she was about to inherit to contain her perfectly: and identifiably.

‘I know that you only “do” houses. But I would be so happy if you could do it to me. Is it so different?’

Bea half closed her eyes, her head on one side. Regarded the scrubbed, shining, determined face before her. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘No. As long as the structure is sound. You mean a complete transformation job?’

‘I know what I want,’ said Leni. ‘If you would tell me how to do it.’

‘Thursday then,’ said Bea. ‘Give me time to polish up my fairy wand.’

In the bar, Marcus sat making vague geometric shapes on the table with ten peanuts.

‘What do you think then?’ asked Desmond. ‘An idea?’

‘I’m a bit winded. It’s a terrific idea.’

Fact is, I’m having to do too much. And now I’ve got to consider Bea. I want to be with her, promised her that, ease out of things gently. Start a life together, make it work. Really work for us. So much travel gets me down now. And I can delegate; never been one of those idiots who won’t delegate; essential to the well-being of the Firm. Spread the responsibility. Of course I’d still be Boss. Very much so. But if you thought you could do it, and I think that you could, it would give you an incentive and a future, take a weight off my shoulders – I’m sixty-five this year, you know, grisly thought – and add to your budget a good deal. And who knows? In time, if you wanted to, you could take the whole shebang over more or less and let me clear off with Bea and my fishing rods. That’s what I’d really like. What say?’