Bea Huntlee followed Cuckoo to the chairs by the fountain. ‘If you only knew how magical it is to see just one lovely thing; after months and months of burgundy axminster, quilted vinyl bars, Lowry reproductions, and acres and acres of stripped pine you’d know how I feel this evening,’ she said.

‘Where are these enormities to be found?’ said Cuckoo, sitting in one of the cane chairs and indicating that Bea should join her, for she had taken an instant liking to the tall, weary woman at her side.

‘In practically all my clients’ pads,’ said Bea. ‘Some want a bit more “glit”, or glass, but by and large it’s beige for the beigeous. Or Burgundy. God!’

‘You must know more about bad taste,’ said Cuckoo, ‘than anyone else.’

‘My stock in trade,’ said Bea. ‘That’s how I make my loot. Kitsch and glit.’

Archie had opened the wine, filling the glasses with care. Marcus took two, carried them to the end of the terrace for Cuckoo and Bea and Archie gave one to Desmond.

‘I hope it’s cold enough? Do hate warm champagne.’ He raised his glass. ‘Your health.’

Desmond sipped his wine, looked about the terrace with content. ‘All very pleasant. You’ve been a very lucky fellow,’ he said to Marcus. ‘I’d say this was paradise, frankly. It’ll be a wrench to leave, won’t it?’

‘A wrench,’ said Marcus, and took an almond quickly.

‘Where’s Leni then?’ said Desmond. ‘You mislaid her somewhere this afternoon, Bea?’

‘No. She’s in the house,’ said Archie. ‘The last time I saw her she was tearing up the stairs with her head in a plastic bag from Galleries Lafayette.’

‘Good God!’ said Bea’ ‘She hasn’t smothered, has she? That wasn’t the idea at all, we’ve spent practically all afternoon wandering about endlessly, looking for a present which she insisted that she simply had to give tonight.’

‘A present?’ said Cuckoo.

‘Do you have a tame bear in the house by any chance?’

‘No.’

‘This is for someone, or something, called “Bruin”.’

‘Bruna!’ cried Cuckoo with a clap of hands. ‘My treasure! How divine! Leni did this?’

‘My dear, it took hours. Hours. We finally ended up with something of such amazing horror that if your treasure isn’t blind she will be by the second she claps sight on it.’

‘What can it be?’ said Marcus taking a glass of wine.

Bea shook a scatter of charms and fobs over her fist. ‘A ten inch block of clear plastic, stuffed with dead seahorses, sequins, and shells. That’s what it is. She says it’ll be very useful to whoever-it-is.’

‘Why?’said Cuckoo.

‘Because it has a dolly little barometer on it as well. And apparently the recipient will now be able to tell precisely when, or when not, to put out her washing. Logical?’ Bea sipped her wine.

‘That’s Leni,’ said Marcus. ‘Logical.’