Anna was unimpressed. ‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. To return. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. It reverberated in the silence.
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