‘But—’ Cecily’s mouth dropped open. ‘Did you know that, Miranda?’

‘He can do what he wants,’ Miranda said. ‘But have you told Mummy and Dad?’

‘Cross that bridge when I come to it,’ Archie said, turning his face to the sun and closing his eyes.

‘So that’s the plan,’ Cecily said, nodding at him. She looked at her brother and sister, from one to the other. ‘Right. Wel , it’s none of my business.’

Louisa, ignoring this exchange, said, ‘What about you, Miranda?’

Miranda shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Never real y thought about it,’ she said, adjusting the rubber strap around her goggles which were on her head.

‘You don’t know what you want to do yet?’ Louisa said. Miranda turned on her, and said vehemently, ‘Oh, shut up, Louisa. Just because you’re perfect and know exactly what’s going on with your stupid boring life. Leave me out of it. I don’t know, I tel you. I’m not good at anything, and that makes it rather hard.’

‘You must be good at something,’ Guy said, not unkindly. ‘Wel , I’m not,’ Miranda said flatly. ‘I’m ugly. I’m too thin, too hairy, too stupid to go to university. The only things I like doing are buying clothes, and sunbathing and swimming, and last time I checked you couldn’t do that as a job. I’m the lame duck of the family, and I know you al despise me. So – so just . . . just fuck off.’

She spat out the last three words and stalked off towards the sea, leaving Archie to run after her.

‘Poor girl,’ Frank said, watching her costume-clad figure as she slid into the blue-green sea.

‘Oh, she’l be fine,’ Cecily said, with a sister’s impatience. ‘She just wants to go to finishing school and learn how to get out of cars properly and she’s furious Mum and Dad won’t let her.’

‘How do you get out of cars properly?’ Guy asked, intrigued. ‘No idea but we’re al doing it wrong apparently,’ Cecily said. ‘She’l learn, and teach us, and then she can marry a rich husband and spend al day in Harrods buying al the dresses she wants. I suppose that might make her happy.’ But she didn’t sound sure.

Jeremy nodded. Louisa was silent. The little group was stil , for a moment, watching the twins as they bobbed in and out of the clear water.

‘What about you?’ Guy asked Cecily. ‘What wil you be doing in ten years?’

‘Thank you for final y asking, Guy.’ Cecily pointed one foot delicately in front of her. ‘Working on the script of the film of my best-sel ing novel about Mary Queen of Scots,’ she said. ‘Living in Hol ywood with Stewart Granger. Buying my second silver Rol s Royce because the first one wil be worn out with driving me to film premieres and parties. And eating al the cream eclairs I want.’ She stood up. ‘OK?’

‘Yes,’ said Guy, taken aback. ‘You’ve worked it out, haven’t you?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Cecily said pragmatical y. ‘But I’l have time to go to India with you before, if you want. Come on, let’s swim.’

Chapter Sixteen

That night, at dinner, a party atmosphere set in. Perhaps it was because of the sun but it became clear, when they gathered on the terrace that evening, that there was something in the air. The holiday was real, it was happening. It was theirs to enjoy.

Yes, they were al on good form that evening. Louisa, like Grace Kel y in a blue Grecian dress, shyly touching Frank’s hand; Frank, tal and more assured dressed for dinner in a jacket, shirt and trousers than he ever was in shorts, dutiful y meeting Louisa’s smiles. Miranda, the last one down, eventual y appeared model ing another of her recent purchases, a crisp cotton black and white gingham shift, with a sash tie behind, her hair pushed back with a black silk Alice band.

Her mother stared at her, Frank and Guy swal owed, and Cecily whistled.

‘Wow, you look great, Miranda,’ Jeremy said. He stared at her with admiration. ‘You look like a film star. Doesn’t she, Franty?’

Frances nodded. ‘Absolutely. You’re like a swan, darling.’ Guy whistled. ‘Why, Miss Kapoor, you’re ravishing,’ he said, in a terrible American accent.

‘Thank you so very much, darling,’ Miranda said, in a husky film-star voice. There was a little throb in her throat, almost as if she was nervous.

‘So very kind of you. So kind.’ She accepted a drink from Jeremy. ‘You look lovely tonight, Louisa,’ she said in a loud voice.

Louisa, visibly touched, stil looked startled. ‘Oh, Miranda . . . thank you.’

‘No one has complimented me on my dress,’ said Arvind, who was sitting in a chair on the edge of the terrace, admiring the sunset. ‘No one has said, How nice you look today, Arvind.’

‘Daddy, you look ravishing,’ Miranda said, wanting to bestow compliments on everyone now. ‘Mummy, you too.’

‘Very heartfelt, Miranda,’ Frances said drily. ‘I’m not quite ready for the bath chair and the nursing home yet, you know.’

‘Mother,’ said Miranda, in a wheedling tone. ‘Can I ask you a huge favour, please?’

‘Er—’ Frances said. ‘What is it?’

‘Can we put on the Beatles? Please? Your record player’s so much better than the one upstairs.’

Louisa clapped her hands. ‘Oh, Aunt Frances, please. I think you’d real y like it,’ she said. It was so far the only thing Miranda and Louisa had found they had in common.

‘I know it very wel ,’ Frances said drily. ‘I’ve heard that dratted album wafting down the stairs about ten times a day for the past week. And over Easter. I’m sick of it.’

‘Oh, go on,’ Miranda pleaded. She drank some more of her gin and tonic. ‘Listen to it properly. Please. Please Please Me!’ she said, and Frances laughed, and unbent.

‘Al right,’ she said.

So they ate supper to the strains of ‘Please Please Me’ playing on the old gramophone from the sitting room, and Louisa sang ‘Love Me Do’

softly in Frank’s direction, and even Cecily (who was secretly rather keen on John Lennon), sang along to ‘Twist and Shout’. ‘Because they didn’t write this one,’ she explained, when Miranda looked at her cool y and asked why she was singing, if she hated them so much?

Arvind and Frances were not censorious parents, and they al owed wine at the table, though Cecily was only al owed a glass. This night, perhaps because of the wine, or the heat coming off their sun-kissed skin, or the heady, late summer smel of lavender and sea and sun oil, the wine disappeared faster than it might have done.

‘Another bottle?’ said Mary, when she came in to put down the peach melba.

‘Oh—’ Frances, who had been working in her studio al day, was tired and rather drained. She waved her hand. ‘Yes, a couple more, please,’

she said. ‘My glass is empty.’ She looked around the table. ‘I do feel old,’ she said, to no one in particular.

It was stil very hot outside, humid and stil , and Frances went to bed after supper, pleading a headache, fol owed by Arvind. The younger generation moved out onto the terrace where they sat for a while, too tired to move, not real y saying much. Frank and Louisa stood at the edge of the group, he with one arm round her waist, a glass of wine in the other. He was rather drunk.

‘This time next week, your parents wil be here,’ Cecily said into the silence. She smoothed a hand over her brow, to the scarf she had tied back her hair with, and stood up. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, as if realising she was not in the right frame of mind for the party. ‘Goodnight, everyone.’

With her departure, it was as if the spel had been broken, and the party was deflating.

‘I’m actual y quite tired,’ Louisa said, moving Frank’s arm which was creeping up around her waist towards her breast. He drained his glass, and she moved away from him. ‘It must be al that sun.’

‘Wel , I’m off,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’l take the glasses through.’

‘I’l help you,’ Louisa said. She turned to Frank, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Night, Frank. See you – tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’ Frank blinked. ‘Yes, tomorrow. You’re – going.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Louisa said.

Frank’s lips drooped. ‘Oh, right then. I suppose I’d better be off soon as wel . Night, Louisa.’

He stayed on the terrace as, one by one, the others filed into the house, saying goodnight. He was swaying slightly, but after a minute he shook his head and looked around him, as if noticing for the first time that the party was over. He stared contemplatively into the darkness.

Someone appeared around the corner, making him jump. ‘Mrs Ka— Frances, hel o,’ Frank said, his eyes widening. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed.’

Frances leaned against the wooden table, her eyes dancing. ‘I was having a cigarette down by the gazebo. It’s such a beautiful night, I couldn’t quite bear to go inside just yet.’

She hugged herself, wrapping her slim, bare arms round her black-silk-clad body. Frank stared at her.

‘Do you have a cigarette, Frank?’ she said, and held out her hand.

Befuddled by wine, but mesmerised by her, Frank gave his hostess a cigarette. She put it to her mouth and watched as he lit it.

‘Don’t worry,’ Frances said, her voice rich with amusement. ‘I won’t bite you.’

‘We’re having such a jol y holiday, Frances,’ he told her. ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she said, smiling in the darkness. ‘I hope there’s more to come.’

She rol ed her head from side to side, listening to the vertebrae crunch slightly. ‘Ouch,’ she said.

‘You al right?’ Frank asked. ‘Just – it’s been a long day,’ she said. ‘My back’s stiff. You’re lucky, you lot. You’re young. You sleep wel , you eat wel , you have fun . . . And then you become a proper grown-up. And it’s different.’

Frank, holding his glass at an angle, appeared to have realised he was a little too drunk for this conversation. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Frances bit her lip, sat down on the terrace and was silent for a moment. ‘But that’s for another day. I don’t want to puncture the golden dreams of youth.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Ah, when I was younger, we used to come to this part of the coast for picnics, to swim.