‘Only too well.’ Cuckoo suddenly laughed. ‘What nonsense. Too well. Unwell. Such a difference.’

‘It is grave?’

‘Irreversible.’

‘Pain?’ Poker stiff now, eyes clear, hands folded.

‘No. No pain. Isn’t that good? I don’t think there will be. Which is a blessing. Just a slow, what can I say? A slow wearying, fading. It’s leukaemia. Simple as that.’

‘But what will you do?’

‘Do?’ Cuckoo shook her head wistfully at the absurdity of it. ‘Die,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’ll do.’

‘And Sircharles?’ She pronounced the words as one.

‘Doesn’t know. Yet. But is guessing; he suspects something, I think; old age, I rather imagine … senility. Which is maddening because he’ll fuss me. No one knows except you: and the specialist.’

‘There is no doubt?’

‘None. That’s why I went to London. Not for Harriet’s wedding bash. No. It’s certain.’

‘Well.’ Bruna brusquely arranged the stiff blue pinafore over her knees. ‘I’m glad I know. I knew anyway; the moment the boy brought you here, that evening. I’m not a fool. Now that we know where we are we can get on with things, can’t we?’

‘Nanny Peverill! Remember her? Such a long time ago; such a comfort. You sound just like her. Very un-Italian. No sobs and wails.’

‘Very un-English to do what you did. To walk into the sea. No courage.’

‘Perfectly right. None. I apologize. I’d reached the finish, I thought. Then he grabbed me, held me up. He was so amazingly strong, alive, young, I could feel the force pouring through me.’ She flicked a ribbon over her shoulder. ‘My first transfusion. And when they both arrived the house suddenly became alive again; this Pompeii of a place. There was a wondrous surge of youth and life. We haven’t had that here for years, apart from the picnics. It would have been idiotic to let all that go, do admit?’

For a moment Bruna’s eyes were strangely bright, her lips firm. Then she buried her face in her hands. No sound; her knuckles white.

‘Dearest Bruna! Don’t!’ Cuckoo got up and went to her. A light hand on the shaking shoulders. ‘My dear! I’m not going to keel over tomorrow, or drag myself from room to room like “Camille”. It’s progressive. We’ll have to see how it goes, and you’ve brought it all on your own head, my dearest, all your fault. Tricking me into saying it like that. Utterly foul and underhand. But I’m very grateful that you have. Whooooo!’ She spread her arms wide. ‘Oh! The relief! To have told you, to share! Now then. I have kept my side of your disgraceful bargain and you must promise me to keep yours, you will?’

Bruna pulled up a strand of her hair which had slipped from its fastening. ‘Before God. This evening. When she gets back from town; she’s gone shopping.’

‘The boy too?’

‘No, he didn’t. He’s down at the pool or somewhere: I don’t know.’