Jeremy sighed and fol owed them.

Louisa was silent on the journey home. Jeremy took the quicker main road through the open countryside, driving fast because he was hungry now, and he’d heard Mary mention chicken salad for lunch.

‘I don’t understand what happened,’ Cecily said, equanimity restored, sticking her head between their seats. ‘Why wouldn’t they have come?’

‘Perhaps we got the wrong time. Or the wrong day,’ Jeremy said.

‘Perhaps they just changed their minds,’ Louisa said. ‘I bet they did.’

‘Frank wouldn’t do that,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’ve known him for eleven years, he wouldn’t just not turn up. Guy either.’

‘How do you know him?’ Cecily said. ‘I thought he was Louisa’s boyfriend.’

‘Honestly, Cecily,’ Louisa said through gritted teeth, ‘if you say that again, I wil ram this down your throat.’ She turned around, brandishing a battered old Shell Guide to the Roads of Britain with some force. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, her hair out of place.

‘We were at prep school together,’ Jeremy said. ‘Known him for years. Lives near us. We used to play tennis together, the three of us. And Guy. You’l like Guy,’ he told Cecily. ‘He wants to be a writer too.’

‘I bet he’s not as nice as you,’ Cecily said quietly. Jeremy didn’t hear her. ‘They’re good sorts. They like playing tennis, swimming, joining in with things, al of that.’ He turned the car off the main road, onto the dark, leafy lane above Summercove.

‘Wel , if they’re such bloody good sorts, why— oh, hell!’ Louisa cried. ‘This stupid car, Jeremy! The spring’s come through the damned seat, look, it’s torn my shorts! My beautiful shorts . . . oh, God.’ She squirmed around in the car.

‘Maybe if you put the Shell Guide over the spring it’d stop it tearing anything else,’ Cecily offered helpful y. Louisa shot her a look of pure loathing.

They drew up outside the house. ‘I’l put the car in the garage, if you want to hop out,’ Jeremy said, and the girls got out. Cecily opened the gate while Louisa, stil grumbling, fol owed behind her.

Cecily breathed in as they walked across the lawn towards the house. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to be back on a day like today, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I can smel the sea, I can smel the sea . . .’

Voices drifted across to them from the terrace on the other side of the house. ‘I expect they’re having lunch already,’ Louisa said rueful y. ‘Bet they didn’t wait.’

They walked around the side to the garden, and Louisa let out a cry.

‘Oh! Oh, my goodness.’ She stared in amazement across the lawn.

There, kneeling on a blanket, in slim black trousers, a white T-shirt and a black cardigan slung over her shoulders, a white ribbon tying back her dark hair, was Miranda and, with her, two young men, one in meticulously pressed linen shorts and a navy polo shirt, a cricket jumper tied round his neck, the other in jeans and an open-necked shirt. They were laughing at something Miranda had said. She looked up.

‘Oh, here!’ she said, her cat-like face breaking out into a smile as the girls walked towards her. ‘Louisa’s back from the station! I’m sure she can explain what’s happened. Louisa, look!’ she said sweetly to her cousin. ‘Frank and . . . it’s Guy, isn’t it?’ she added shyly. ‘They wired yesterday to say they’d be down early, but it obviously never arrived. Isn’t that strange?’

Frank and Guy sprang to their feet as Louisa and Cecily, on the edge of the lawn, stood there, mouths open. ‘Hel o!’ Louisa said, desperately clutching the flap of material on her bottom. ‘My goodness! What a lovely surprise! We’d quite given up on you two. How strange!’

‘Are you al right?’ Miranda asked, watching her cousin anxiously. ‘Is something . . . wrong?’

‘No, no,’ Louisa said hastily. ‘I tore my shorts, that’s al . Very annoying!’ she added heartily, one hand stil holding the ripped material. ‘Hel o, Guy, Frank—’ She patted both of them awkwardly with her free arm, bowing her head in mortification.

‘Hel o, Louisa,’ Frank said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Very – very nice to see you.’

‘Oh, we are glad you’re back,’ Miranda said. She unfurled her legs from underneath her and stood up graceful y, stretching her long arms, and Guy gave her his hand to help her up.

‘Wow,’ said Cecily, in admiration. ‘Miranda, you look pretty today.’

‘Thanks,’ said Miranda. She tugged at her ponytail and looked sympathetical y at her cousin. ‘Poor Louisa!’ she said, in honeyed tones. ‘You’d better change your shorts before lunch, it’s in five minutes. Guy, Frank – are you al settled in? Do you want a wash and brush-up?’

‘When did you get here then?’ Cecily asked. ‘How strange that we never got the wire!’

‘About an hour ago,’ Guy said. He smiled at Cecily. ‘We got a lift from a fel ow who was going to Sennen Cove. Very decent of him. We were a bit stuck, we didn’t know what to do. We weren’t sure which bus would take us to Summercove, and a taxi would have wiped us out.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m Guy,’ he said, shaking Cecily’s hand.

‘Hel o,’ she said, pleased. ‘Hel o, Cecily,’ Frank said, also stepping forward. ‘I’m Frank, I’m Jeremy’s friend.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

Cecily stared at him. ‘Hel o, Frank,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said awkwardly. He pointed to his shorts. ‘We’re al kitted out for a summer holiday, as you can see.’

She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him. ‘It’s funny,’ she said after a while. ‘You don’t look like you should be wearing shorts.’

‘Aah. I am not that used to them, it’s true,’ Frank said. ‘You look more like you should be . . .’ Cecily paused. ‘Wearing a bowler hat.’

There was a silence. ‘Cecily, that’s rude,’ Miranda said, pushing her. ‘Say sorry.’ But Frank laughed. ‘No, it’s not rude. She’s right.’ He fiddled with some imaginary cufflinks, a smile on his handsome face. ‘I’m usual y more happy in smarter kit, it’s true.’

Cecily rubbed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr Bowler Hat.’

Guy gave a shout of laughter and Frank joined in. Louisa, however, looked mortified.

‘I’m sure we passed you on the way,’ Frank said to Louisa. ‘We got our friend to sound the horn, and we pul ed over, but you didn’t seem to spot us.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Louisa said. ‘Of course. I remember now . . .’ She bit her lip, annoyed, and then clutched her bottom again. ‘I real y should go and change,’ she said, blushing. ‘Sorry. Wil you two be OK out here while I go off?’

She looked at Frank, but he was listening to Miranda, who was saying, ‘How wonderful you’re here. Ah,’ she said, turning towards the house,

‘there’s Jeremy. Now we’re al present and correct.’ She sighed and smiled happily at the new arrivals, coiling her hair around one finger.

Suddenly a shadow passed over her. ‘Hel o there,’ said a voice behind her, and Miranda and the two boys turned to see Frances walking towards them, her hand outstretched.

‘I’m Frances Seymour,’ she said, pul ing the headscarf that had been tying her hair back off her head. She shook her honey-coloured hair out, scratching her scalp. ‘What a terrible welcome you’ve had.’ She smiled at them both, eyes sparkling, her clear, tanned face glowing with pleasure.

‘Not at al ,’ said Guy, shaking her hand, clearly taken aback. ‘It’s wonderful to be here.’

‘Yes,’ said Frank, wiping his hand on his shorts and then holding it out to her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Kapoor.’

Frances looked up at the tal , blond, godlike Frank, and smiled, almost in amusement. ‘Frances, please,’ she said.

‘I’m Frank,’ he replied. ‘Wel , so that means we’ve got almost the same name!’

‘Ye-es.’ There was a look on her face that he found rather disconcerting. ‘Wel , let’s get you a drink.’ She laughed, her green eyes glinting in the sun, and patted Miranda on the shoulder. ‘Stand up, darling. Isn’t this wonderful? I feel as if the holidays can properly start now.’

Chapter Fourteen

‘More tea, vicar?’

‘Tea? Ha – very good. Yes, please, Louisa.’

‘Guy, more champagne?’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’

Louisa turned to her aunt. ‘Franty, is there anything else I can do?’

‘No,’ said Frances, smiling. ‘You’ve been wonderful. Sit down and enjoy yourself, darling.’

They had gathered on the lawn at the front of the house for drinks before dinner. There was no wind, not even the faintest breeze from the sea.

The scent of lavender and oil from the lamps outside hung in the stil air. ‘My One and Only Love’, and John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman floated out to them from a gramophone.

Louisa, resplendent in mulberry-coloured silk, was making the rounds with champagne, but it was Miranda who was the star of the show that night. She appeared after everyone else had gathered on the terrace, in a black grosgrain cocktail dress, extremely simple and obviously expensive, with a tulip skirt and tight bodice which clung perfectly to her gamine figure.

‘That is a beautiful dress, Miranda,’ Louisa said generously, handing her a glass. ‘You look like Jackie Kennedy.’

Miranda flushed, her olive skin mottling red. ‘It is a beautiful dress,’ Frances said, curious. ‘Where’s it from, may I ask?’

Miranda turned her face to her mother. She was glowing. ‘I didn’t tel you, Mother. So please don’t be cross. But Connie sent me a postal order to school. For ten pounds. I bought this in Exeter. And some other things.’ She was pleading.

‘She gave you TEN POUNDS?’ Cecily screeched. ‘I didn’t know it was that much!’

The shirt that morning. The lovely blue pumps she’d been wearing yesterday. Of course. Frances nodded, appraising her daughter again.