‘From the sea as I looked,’ said Bruna and went into the bedroom to put the ironing away.

‘And “Noisette d’agneau à l’estragon”. Well. That’s all right. And so on – and the date at the bottom. Perfect.’

‘Why a menu for six people I can’t imagine,’ called Bruna. ‘We never do. Only for twelve or over.’

‘Souvenirs. That’s what. For the children. It’s Last Night.’

Bruna was pulling drawers. ‘The house is suddenly like a tomb: thank God. No one breathing. Such peace. Oh là là!’

Cuckoo covered her eyes with her hand swiftly. Let it drop. ‘What about Fanny and Maria, did you mention what we spoke about?’

‘Leaving next Saturday. A fortnight’s wages; it’s all “liquid” anyway. Maria talks through a hole in her head but my God! She can iron like the seraphim. You’ll miss that.’

‘I thought we might ask her to stay on.’

‘For the ironing? I’m not so bad, am I?’

‘No, not for that. Just to help out.’

‘I don’t need helping out, not when the house is empty.’

‘You may,’ said Cuckoo evenly.

Bruna, hand to a cupboard door, closing it, froze. Shut her eyes. ‘As you like,’ she called, shut the cupboard door.

‘You’ve been wonderfully kind and good, Bruna dear. Worked so hard. The picnic, the young people, Princess Minerva … and so much more. I do thank you.’

‘No need. Duty is duty. I’m not senile. Yet. If it made you happy …’ she slammed a drawer shut to stop her hand shaking.

‘It made me wonderfully happy. Except for one tiny thing.’

Bruna stood perfectly still in the centre of the bedroom, looked up at the ceiling. Cuckoo was silent.

‘Which was what?’ said Bruna, picking up the empty basket.

‘Oh, a silly thing. But apparently it hurt terribly.’

Bruna came to the day-room, a frown of concern on her face. ‘I did this?’

‘Yes. You.’

‘To you? Never!’

‘No. Not to me.’

‘You’d better say. I don’t understand when you speak in riddles.’

‘The time the young people went up to the hills for a picnic. It was then.’

‘They went to the hills often. Many times. I cut the sandwiches, I should know.’

‘Once there was a memorial; to the Resistance.’

Bruna tapped the basket against her knee. ‘There are many in the hills. Everywhere.’

‘I think that this one was chosen particularly. By you.’

‘Chosen?’

‘Well … you suggested the place to them. Marked it carefully on his map. You knew it was there, you knew she was German. Do you see?’

‘You think this was deliberate? They said that to you?’ Her indignation was strong but uneasy, she looked beyond Cuckoo to the sea.

‘They didn’t say at all. Just that it was there and that it had made her deeply unhappy. She thinks that you hate her because she is German.’

‘So?’ Bruna stared steadily at the sea.

‘You don’t do you? Surely not?’