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though she has cast a spell, broken the ice, done whatever it takes, she is in, she is one of them, the Throckmortons take her into their hearts, their house. Even Graeme suddenly feels it is good to see her, to speak to her. Everyone begins to talk. Karen hands Agnes the baby Francis who smiles and reaches out and presses his hand to her lips. He stares at the red lipstick smudged on his fingers as though it is magic. Andrew draws himself together to make an announcement; he says ‘I am four.’ Agnes tells him she thinks that is wonderful. She draws up a chair next to Martin, Robert’s father, and begins to talk to him, her voice smooth, charming.
    Karen pauses on her way back to the sink. ‘He doesn’t speak, you know.’
    Agnes looks up expectantly, her face open.
    ‘We’re not sure if he hears us either,’ Karen continues. ‘He will turn the pages of a book, but we are not sure if he reads. We don’t actually know how much he can see.’ She comes nearer and puts her hand on Martin’s head. ‘Graeme says he’s blind, but I think he sees. I think he saw you Agnes,’ she says smiling. ‘I really do. I think he looked at you,’ she laughs, ‘and he likes what he sees.’
    While Karen speaks, Agnes takes Martin by the hand. ‘He’s going to be my friend,’ she says, turning to her prospective father-in-law, ‘aren’t you Mr Throckmorton?’ She looks back at Karen, smiling. ‘He’s going to be my special way in to this family.’
    Karen smiles at Agnes uncertainly. She is gazing into Agnes’s green, green eyes and for a moment she thinks she sees them go black, as though the pupil eclipses the iris and is restored by a blink. She is startled to see such anger, at least that’s what she thinks she sees. She glances at Martin and a look of terror passes over his face, like a spasm, a grotesque facial tic. Then it’s gone and what can she do, what can she say? Her skin is prickling. ‘Where are you from?’ she finds herself asking, thinking – who are you, why are you here?
    ‘Las Vegas,’ says Agnes, ‘Nevada. The gambling state, although they’re making it legal almost everywhere now. Have you been to the US?’
    ‘No. Foreign travel isn’t really my kind of thing. Graeme –’ she turns to see where her husband is, still standing beside the fridge, although he has closed the door, ‘–likes his creature comforts. He likes to be at home. He grew up here, in this house – I expect you know that. Robert, too, of course. And Jenny, but their mother died when she was born. Tragic. In childbirth. Things were not good in those days. Mind you, it was only sixteen years ago, hardly the dark ages. She was here, at home. I think labouring women belong in the maternity ward, don’t you?’ She shakes her head, suddenly worried about the way she is taking up space.
    Agnes continues to smile pleasantly and Karen feels as though she might not be listening after all. She makes her way back to the sink.
    Agnes pats Martin’s hand, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. Robert watches from the other side of the kitchen. He never knows how people will react to his father; sometimes they appear to be afraid of him, most of the time they speak to him slowly and loudly, as if he is a kind of deaf idiot, a large, slow child in a pushchair. Agnes behaves as though Martin is the most important person in the room. Robert wonders if this is an American thing, respect for older people, but he doesn’t know. It is probably simply Agnes being herself. He leans against the wall, his arms crossed. Karen at the sink, the little boys playing with their trucks and stealing glances at the new lady, Jenny setting the table; he feels that all is well in the world. Everything is in its place. He is going to marry that woman. He is –
    Graeme interrupts his thoughts. ‘I want to talk to you about the cottages.’
    The cottages are fine.’
    ‘I think we should be doing more marketing. They’re lying empty three quarters