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belly.
    ‘I’ve got rather a mound of work to get through, actually,’ said George, still hopping. His sock seemed to have jammed on
     his toes. ‘I think I’d better get back to it.’
    ‘What’s the hurry, darling?’
    He gave up on the socks and finally snapped his braces into place. ‘I’ve got to finish something. Lots to do before Diana
     arrives.’
    ‘But you said—’
    ‘Second thoughts. You girls carry on.’
    ‘Please stay,’ said Geenie.
    But he wouldn’t look at her. He’d fixed his gaze over their heads, on the door of his studio. Plucking his shirt from the
     grass, he walked back inside and closed the door firmly behind him.
    Geenie looked at her mother. Ellen’s cheeks had swelled with laughter, which she managed to hold for half a minute before
     letting it out in a long, loud rush. Geenie flung herself down on the towel and laughed too. Their bodies shook together,
     Geenie curling her legs to her chest and rolling from side to side, Ellen clutching her own elbows and rocking back and forth.
     They laughed and laughed until they ran out of air and had to calm down. Then they laughed again. When they were exhausted,
     Geenie slotted into Ellen’s side, her small hipbone curving into her mother’s waist, and Ellen put an arm around her shoulders.
     Geenie closed her eyes and stayed still for as long as she could, savouring the warmth of her mother’s flesh.
    Eventually, Ellen sat up. ‘Poor Crane,’ she said, laughing again.
    ‘Who’s Diana?’ asked Geenie.
    ‘She’s George’s daughter, darling. She’s coming to live here for a bit. Didn’t I mention it?’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Soon.’
    Geenie tried to nudge herself back into her mother’s side, but Ellen gave a shiver and stood up, looking at the sky. The clouds
     were thickening.
    ‘What’s she like?’
    ‘I don’t know, darling. A bit like George, probably. But a girl, and eleven years old.’
    ‘Will she like me?’ asked Geenie.
    ‘What a ridiculous question.’ Ellen frowned, still gazing upwards. ‘Maybe I was a bit optimistic. We’d better go in.’
    Geenie watched her mother’s naked bottom wobble towards the house and wondered if Diana knocked holes in walls, too.

· · ·  Five  · · ·

    I t was her second go at rolling out. Mrs Steinberg had asked for a savoury tart, ‘a quiche – like the French eat, you know
     the sort of thing.’
    Kitty did not know the sort of thing. She’d spent most of the morning looking for something like it in Silvester’s Sensible Cookery . Egg and bacon pie sounded nearly right, an open flan with a cheesy filling, although Mrs Steinberg had mentioned artichokes,
     not knowing, probably, that the season hadn’t yet begun. There were certainly no artichokes at the greengrocers’ in Petersfield,
     and if she’d have telephoned to ask if she could add them to the order, Mr Bailey would have laughed. Cabbages aplenty, Kitty,
     he would have said, but whoever heard of artichokes in April? What’s the matter with that American woman? Doesn’t she even
     know the seasons?
    Kitty wondered if she did. She had yet to see her in stockings, even though it had been a cold spring until now, the air licking
     around your calves and shrinking your feet inside your shoes. And there had been only one occasion on which she’d seen her
     in a hat, a terrible woollen beret that covered half her face, when it had suddenly hailed a week ago. You could just see
     that great nose sticking out, like a fat coat hook.
    The marble rolling pin was heavy and Kitty was careful to place it behind the sugar jar so it wouldn’t roll off the table
     and onto her foot. It was an awful rolling pin – flour slipped from its shiny surface, and now the pastry was sticking and
     tearing as she rolled. Mrs Steinberg had told her it had been Dora’s pride and joy, and was quite the best thing for pastry.
     Kitty wondered how Mrs Steinberg would know this. She’d never seen her so much as put the kettle on