He fussed her gently into a chair. ‘You must be dead.’

‘Not quite.’

‘Eat on the plane?’

‘Never do. Half a bottle of Krug, and Bruna’s getting me a sandwich.’

The terrace was dappled with shade from the wistaria. Fat cane chair with cushions, low tables, great pots spilling with ferns and rustling palms, rather like an Edwardian conservatory. Which had been the idea originally. At the far end a small fountain bubbled softly, dribbling from the mossy mouth of a marble frog. She lay back with relief.

‘Four days in London and I’m a wreck. Isn’t it odd? One loved it so once upon a time … but now. Ugly, harrassed people. Not English at all. Traffic, awful smells, it’s all gone. The elegance, the fun, the Capital City feeling. It’s like one enormous suburb. Everywhere one looked there were chatters of little Japanese, black men, ladies in cheap saris and cheaper sandals, and the Arabs … I’m very glad to be home.’

Bruna came out on to the terrace with a tray which she set before her.

‘Dear Bruna! You spoil me. So good.’

Bruna shrugged indifferently. ‘You want a glass of wine? It’s there. Smoked salmon sandwiches, but only Norwegian. If I’d known earlier …’ She went back into the house, straightened something on a table, went away.

‘Thoroughly spoiled I am. I do like it.’

Archie smiled vaguely. ‘How did it go then? Everything all right?’

For a second her eyes widened with alarm. Then she recovered her wits and took a small triangle of brown bread. ‘Wonderfully well…’ She poured herself a glass of wine quickly.

Archie crossed his legs, carefully adjusting his creases. ‘Harriet has always been an arranger. Arranged everyone in your unfortunate family as far as I can see. Poor Richard! And those wretched girls. A frightful bully.’

‘Not a bully. An arranger is better. Takes after Mamma. I was never like that, as you well know; she’s always been good at weddings and picnics and Christmas and she really did this splendidly. That house in Pavilion Road, Constance Spryery in every corner, bridesmaids in Kate Greenaway dresses, all as plain as pikestaffs, of course, but there you are, poor little things. Even a couple of Royals to add lustre to the wedding photographs and a trendy Lord to take them.’ She finished the sandwich. ‘You’d have hated it.’

She took a long sip of her wine and reached for another sandwich.

Archie patted one pocket for his cigarette case, another for his lighter, found both and carefully started his routine. Choose the cigarette, close the case, back in pocket, close pocket flap, cigarette to lips, lighter to cigarette, cupping one hand against a non-existent flame, one deep breath, lighter back in pocket, pocket flap closed. Cigarette examined thoughtfully. He relaxed.

She watched him as if from a long distance.

‘Hated it,’ he said finally. ‘Can’t think what on earth you went for. Trailing all that way to London, middle of June. Not like you at all.’