So. Cuckoo was happy and occupied, and he was fully engaged in preparing whatever notes he felt might be important to Signore Grottorosso. The thought of the impending arrival of a boat-load of Italians filled him with vague unease, but the fact that he and his hoarded knowledge were the main reasons for their visit gave him a certain feeling of comfort. After all, he reasoned, it was rather pleasing to think that at last the mountain was coming to Mahomet. No one had bothered him much before.

The pool, blasted out of the living rock over the bay at the far end near the point, and approached by a steep flight of stairs, was a much scaled down version of the one at Hadrian’s Villa. No vulgar blue tiles, chromium or public lavatory marble. Honey-coloured stone, tall pillars, along either side. At one end, backed by slender arches, an overlife-size figure of Mars in helmet and shield; at the other, overlooking the bay, a Piranesi tumble of pillars, blocks and crumbling capitals, in planned disarray, among which lizards scuttled or basked with half-closed eyes, and through which a blue confusion of Morning Glories thrust an orchestra of trumpets towards the sun.

Leni sat up, pulled off her straw hat, and hugged her knees to her chest. In the clear water below, Marcus drifted, on his back, spread-eagled, almost motionless, eyes closed.

‘You are so brown.’ she said.

He rolled over and swam leisurely towards her. ‘It’s a good life,’ he said.

She pressed her chin between her knees, stared at him with narrowed green eyes. ‘I think you are getting very used to it, isn’t it?’

‘Doesn’t take long. Easily become addicted. Does it show?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. You have all the signs.’

‘Such as?’ He folded his arms on the warm stone ledge and grinned up at her.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Well: so many baths …’

‘Baths?’

‘Yes. You have a bath in the morning and a bath in the evening.’

‘So?’

‘In London only once a week. And you grumbled.’

‘Two floors down in London. Fifteen pence and take your own plug with you, that’s why.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Do you mean two baths a day is a sign of corruption?’

‘No … but you don’t need two baths a day: people say it is bad for you, it washes off all the natural oils.’

‘I like it. It’s very luxurious indeed.’

‘That’s what I mean. And your T-shirt. Another sign, I think.’

‘T-shirt?’

‘I bought you; the lovely red one.’

‘Oh Leni, come on. I can’t crash about here with “I’m Hers Because She Appreciates Perfection” all over my tits.’

‘Why not? It was lovely. You did in Canteloupe Road.’

‘That’s different. Well, you know: it doesn’t feel right here somehow. Too much “glit”.’

‘It was a compliment to me, you see.’

‘Sorry. Really. But you don’t need written proof, do you?’

‘No … it’s just a pity.’ She squinted into the sun.