Into the silence that fol owed this statement came Mary. ‘Now, does anyone want some more coffee?’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Eggs? Frank, how about you?’

‘No – no, thanks,’ Frank said. He smoothed his hands nervously along his muscular arms. He looked too big for the smal seat, the cosy dining room.

‘We’re cal ing him Bowler Hat now, Mary,’ Louisa said. She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, her long legs clad in a pristine pair of shorts, this time pale blue. She languidly stretched her arms above her head. ‘Not Frank. It’s too confusing.’

‘Bowler Hat, eh?’ said Mary, col ecting up the empty scrambled egg dish. ‘Right you are.’

When Miranda and Cecily were cleaning their teeth in the little sink in their room after breakfast, Miranda said carelessly, ‘So, was Frank asking Louisa something a bit . . . rude, last night, Cec? Is that what you overheard?’

Cecily’s mouth was ful of toothpaste. She stopped, toothbrush in hand.

‘Wha’?’ she said. ‘Something about sex.’ Miranda mouthed the last word. ‘Something she didn’t want to do.’

Cecily bent over the sink and spat, and when she stood up again her smal face was red.

‘I wasn’t eavesdropping. Honestly. I wasn’t.’

‘I know you weren’t,’ Miranda said. ‘I don’t think the Bowler Hat’s very nice,’ Cecily said. ‘What did he do?’

‘Wel .’ Cecily spoke in a whisper, and turned the square tap so the water was running. ‘I was watching them, because I heard them say my name. I had the windows open ’cause I couldn’t sleep. They were sitting on the floor, and he . . .’ She paused. ‘Oh, my goodness.’

‘What?’ said Miranda, nearly mad with curiosity. ‘He . . . wel , he put his hand on her . . . chest.’

‘Oh. Is that it?’

‘Miranda!’

‘Come on, Cecily. You’re such a baby!’ Miranda turned the tap off. ‘What did Louisa do?’

‘She pushed him away,’ Cecily said. ‘Quite hard.’

‘What did he do then?’

‘He asked some other stuff. I’m not saying.’ She was bright red now. ‘And he was angry. He said, “For God’s sake, Louisa. Don’t be so frigid.”’

‘Gosh,’ said Miranda. ‘The Bowler Hat is real y Stewart Granger. Who’d have thought it?’

‘He is not Stewart Granger.’ Cecily was furious at this impugning of her idol. ‘Stewart Granger is tal and handsome, and a gentleman. And Frank is . . . tal . That’s it.’

‘Oh, he’s handsome. And I think he’s rather sweet, in a buttoned-up way,’ Miranda said, musing, looking out of the window. ‘And the brother, too.’

Cecily frowned. ‘Oh, goodness,’ Miranda said in irritation, turning round and catching her sister’s expression. ‘Do grow up a bit, Cecily. You’re such a baby. Life’s not like bloody boarding school, you know. One of these days you’l realise it’s normal for men and women to want to be with each other, you know.’ She looked in the mildew-spotted mirror above the sink and ran one finger careful y over a silken dark eyebrow. ‘It’s going to be hot again today. Very hot. I hope the others don’t get hideously sunburnt at the beach.’ She smiled at Cecily, and ran one hand over her smooth, coffee-coloured skin. ‘Have you ever kissed a boy?’

‘Me?’ Cecily said pointlessly. ‘No.’ She turned away. ‘Stop making everything about boys and girls, Miranda.’

‘That’s what life is about, Cec darling,’ Miranda said. ‘Look at Mummy, flirting with every man that comes her way. Look at Louisa, sticking her bum out at the Bowler Hat, like she’s an ape in the zoo – even you, Cecily dear. It’l happen to you one day—’

‘You’re vile,’ Cecily said, pushing past her. ‘I’m not listening. Stop it.’

She picked up her swimming costume and threadbare towel, and ran downstairs.

The path down to the sea from the house was narrow, impassable in winter. Every Easter, the overgrown brambles that threatened to strangle the high hedgerows were cut away. In late July, the brambles had crept back, tangled together with goosegrass, wild roses and ivy and croaking with grass-hoppers. Cecily led the way, fol owed by Guy and Frank. Louisa and Jeremy said they’d pack up the hamper.

‘It’s only eleven, and it’s baking already,’ Cecily said. She jumped over a trailing bramble. ‘The sea wil be gorgeous, it’s lovely and warm but it doesn’t get too hot. We went to Italy a couple of years ago,’ she added airily, ‘and already by now the Mediterranean is like a bath. So warm and soupy, it’s disgusting.’

‘Where in Italy?’ Guy asked. ‘I’m going in August, for a month.’

‘I love Italy, you are lucky,’ Cecily said. ‘We went to Florence, and Siena, and then on to the Tuscan coast. I wasn’t actual y there with friends, you know. Daddy was doing a lecture,’ she explained.

‘I understand,’ said Guy gravely. ‘But I want to go back one day. When I’m a student myself.’ She slowed down a little, and turned back to look at Guy. ‘I want to travel al over Europe. I’ve drawn a map of where I’m going to go.’ She stopped. ‘Here’s the path. It’s a bit tricky, so be careful.’

The steps were only a couple of feet wide, through the cliffs. ‘Good God,’ Frank said, as they started climbing down. ‘I’m a bit unsteady.’ He looked back. ‘Wil Louisa be al right, carrying that huge great hamper down the steps?’ he asked.

‘Oh, she’l be fine,’ Cecily said blithely. ‘She’s been doing that walk since she was a toddler, Bowler Hat. Calm down.’

But Frank said he’d stay back and carry the hamper with Jeremy, so Cecily and Guy carried on down.

‘Ye gods and little fishes!’ Guy exclaimed, when they reached the bottom. He rubbed his head. ‘This is al ours? You’re sure?’

Cecily ran across the sand. ‘It’s not strictly speaking our own beach, but who else comes down here? No one!’ She grinned at him, holding her hair back from her face. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘It’s great,’ Guy said, setting down his pack. ‘Everything here is great.’ He smiled at her. ‘I don’t know how you can bear going back to school, when you live in a place like this.’ His gaze roamed back towards the fields. ‘And your parents are marvel ous people, too. So interesting, so relaxed.’

Her smile grew a little more rigid. ‘I suppose. So what are your parents like?’ she asked.

‘Oh, you know.’ Guy sat down on one of the huge black rocks. ‘They’re more Bowler Hat than . . . than your parents. Very correct. Think Weybridge is the centre of the universe. Very kind, rather strict.’ He grimaced, a bit helplessly. ‘We don’t often see eye to eye, put it that way. They certainly don’t watch TW3. And as for discussing the Profumo scandal . . .’ He laughed. ‘My goodness, if they had a daughter like you and she knew some of the things you know I think they’d have a heart attack.’

Cecily was picking up stones, but she stood up at this and looked at him. ‘Why?’ she said simply. ‘What’s wrong with a daughter like me?’

‘Nothing,’ Guy said, shaking his head at her. ‘Absolutely nothing. You’re not like most other girls, that’s al . You think for yourself, not for others.

It’s great. Wel , I think so, anyway.’

‘That doesn’t sound very al uring,’ Cecily said, scratching her arm. ‘Girls don’t want to be told they’re a bit odd, Guy. I jol y wel hope you don’t say that to girls at Oxford. No wonder you’ve had to tag along with your brother for the holidays, if that’s the way you normal y speak to your hosts.’

Guy gave a shout of laughter. ‘Come here, you vile child,’ he said, getting up and racing towards her. He grabbed her and tickled her, pinning her arms above her head while she screamed.

‘Stop it!’ she cried breathlessly, but he carried on. ‘Stop it, Guy, stop it!’ Suddenly her mood changed, as if she wasn’t finding it funny any more.

‘Get off.’

She leapt up. ‘I’m sorry,’ Guy said, standing up, breathing hard. ‘Cecily – sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, and moved away from him, towards the sea.

Louisa appeared at the bottom of the steps. ‘Here,’ she cal ed, as Jeremy and Frank emerged behind her, gingerly carrying the hamper. They were fol owed by Archie, who was wearing tortoiseshel sunglasses. Louisa looked at Cecily and Guy in a rather disapproving manner. ‘You’re making such a racket, you two.’

Cecily turned away, biting her lip, as Frank lifted the hamper clear above his head and carried it the last few steps onto the beach. ‘Whew,’ he said, laying it down on the sand. ‘That path is pretty hair-raising.’

‘Thanks, Frank,’ Louisa said, glancing at him. ‘Now, what have we got in here?’ She knelt down on the ground, and he gently pul ed her head towards his crotch as she opened the hamper. Her fingers fumbled on the leather straps as Frank stroked her hair, softly, looking down at her flaxen blonde crown, his fingers working their way through her scalp. ‘Um,’ Louisa said, faltering. ‘Wel —’

‘Is there anything other than ham for lunch?’ a voice behind her said, and Miranda stepped onto the beach, in a bathing suit of blue and white vertical stripes that accentuated every bump and curve of her body. She gave Archie a half-wave. ‘It’s just I don’t real y like it, especial y the way Mary cures it. It’s awful y soapy.’

‘Yes,’ said Louisa, not blinking. ‘There’s tomato, with some lettuce and mustard.’

‘Oh,’ said Miranda, her expression unreadable behind her large black sunglasses. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Wel , that’s fine. I’l just pick out the tomatoes.’

Louisa opened her mouth, but Jeremy said hurriedly, ‘Thanks so much, Louisa, that al looks wonderful. Anyone fancy a game of rounders before lunch?’

‘Games?’ said Miranda. She spread her towel delicately on the sand. ‘Oh, no, thanks. I’m going to sunbathe. And read my Private Eye.’ She lay down, leaning up on her elbows, and, making a tiny moue with her lips, produced a magazine from a canvas bag.