And Archie Charlie, down by the pool this evening, tall and slender, all in white, smelling of lemons, his hands outstretched shyly in welcome. ‘Don’t move! Don’t move! How pretty you look sitting there. Oh, if only Matisse could have seen you like that. They are his colours, you have his line. What a great pity.’ I don’t suppose that she knew what he meant but she laughed, and that was that; ice shattered. But he was right, absolutely right; she did look fantastic suddenly, bare feet, that old kimono Gus Bender gave her ages ago, a big red scarf round her waist, the collar of silver spoons she had made herself, a jug of anemones on the table beside her. I could see just what he meant, but I’d never have been able to express it … and she’d been so panicked before, nothing to wear, all that. And knew he meant it, wasn’t sending her up.

‘Oh, please!’ she had said. ‘I’m not pretty, you know.’

‘Better than that. Arresting, unusual, interesting, much better than being merely “pretty”. I find that pretty people are usually quite dreadfully dull, don’t you? My wife here is the only exception to the rule, as far as I am concerned, and she was simply staggeringly pretty; still is, I think. But then, of course, I would because she was my choice. But there was one other exception to the rule, it is very slightly possible that you may even know her, or know who I mean rather. Lilian Harvey, do you? Or is it too long ago for you?’

‘Oh yes, of course! She was also German, like me.’

‘English born as a matter of fact, so we can both lay claim to her; ravishing creature.’

‘I have seen her only once, “Congress Dances”. We say “Der Kongress tanz”. Do you know this film?’

‘Time and time again, I was deeply in love. That marvellous song.’

‘Das gibts nur einmal,’ said Leni and started to hum it under her breath, and he joined in singing it, in English, she in German, as if they had known each other for fifty years. Now that’s what I call bloody manners. Just the kind that Decca didn’t know about. Oh, she knew about giving your seat to a woman on a bus, don’t pick your nose, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, leave a little on your plate, elbows off the table, but not this kind of behaviour.

And in the laughter, with that song, Cuckoo sitting in the dying sun, so pretty, so alive, laughing. But then, when she caught my eye, the laughter died in her huge blue ones; she raised her eyebrows very slightly, still smiling, but with the light gone; and when I shook my head, so that you really couldn’t see the movement, the light came back again. A look between conspirators. What happened to make her do that yesterday down at the beach? Not my affair. Secrets. All right by me; we’ve all got a few of those tucked away in our luggage.