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politics. — Over there everything’s political. That’s why I couldn’t wait to get away.
    â€” She won’t let me meet her family, Roland said.
    â€” You will meet them, Pilar promised him. — You will. Just give me time.
    â€” At fourteen she had to fight off her cousin with a riding whip.
    â€” He was just a little over-excited.
    The newly-weds were at that stage where every exchange between them had a private reference, tender but cloying to observers. Alice’s quick glance found Fran’s, across the table. — The trouble is you’ll love them, Pilar said. — They’ll love you. They’ll butcher an animal for a barbecue for you, take you out riding, sleep under the stars, all that. But you don’t know the place, you can’t really know it. It’s so crazy.
    â€” Philosophers love crazy places, Alice said. — More work for them. Roland’s got this Latin American thing anyway, it all appeals to him because he’s so buttoned-up in his own life, he’s such a puritan. That’s why he writes about it.
    But clearly Pilar didn’t want to talk about Roland’s character with his sisters. She was only really forthcoming when she was outlining how, since she’d been made a partner in her law firm, she had led a very effective reorganisation, including getting rid of a couple of staff. — I don’t mind working hard, she said, — but I can’t bear inefficiency. When Harriet asked what area of law she worked in and Pilar said commercial contracts, there was an awkward silence which was not disapproval – what did they know about it, to disapprove of? – they simply could not think of anything to say, could not bring themselves to say,
that must be interesting
. Roland went on cutting cheese steadfastly and cheerfully, as if he refused to help them out. Commercial contracts, he seemed to imply, were as good a topic for discussion as any other.
    Kasim said he was going for a walk. Cobwebby from too much sleep, he wasn’t ready yet to take on Alice’s brother, and he didn’t want this girl to think he was hanging around because of her. He and Molly had not yet spoken. Ivy sprang into supplicant position at her mother’s elbow, holding up her hands together in prayer. — Can we go with him? Please, please, Mummy? We can show him the way to the waterfall. He can look after us.
    Fran pretended to make a fuss – they were forbidden to climb trees, Arthur mustn’t go near the edge of any steep slopes – but of course, Kasim thought, she must be relieved to be rid of them for a couple of hours. Then he had to be laden with the whole apparatus the children might need: bottles of water, wet wipes, biscuits, apples, Elastoplasts, Savlon. They had to pee, they had to change their shoes. Eventually they set out along the road in the opposite direction to the way the taxi had brought him and Alice the day before; he strode with a scowl, hoping the children wouldn’t be able to keep up. They were indefatigable though, running up and down like puppies, yapping and chattering. Ivy in a spangled waistcoat, with a scarf knotted under her chin, was disconcerting, a miniature old crone.
    The road became more or less impassable for cars not far beyond the little cluster of houses; grass growing through its tarmacked surface was breaking it up and branches had fallen, blocking it, from ancient oaks growing out of the banks on either side. Ivy led the way across a stile then up a steep field to a tree at the top; they followed the left-hand hedge through several more fields before descending through another gate into woods. Yellow waymarkers were painted on posts and trees. They couldn’t get lost, everything in this countryside was tamed and known, nothing was dangerous.
    They had it all to themselves – only a farmer on a tractor, toiling up and down, his noise no louder than a persistent