‘Ah –’ Arvind said, his eyes lighting up. ‘The danger of the white moderate, greater than the white extremist. Yes, I found that very interesting.’
‘What are they talking about?’ Miranda whispered to Cecily. ‘Real y boring stuff. Someone cal ed Dr King.’
‘Martin Luther King, that is,’ Archie said. He was standing next to them, one hand casual y resting in his blazer pocket. ‘The head of the NAACP. He’s a great man.’
‘NAACP?’ Cecily said. ‘National Association for the Advancement of Colored People,’ Archie said, enunciating each word. He took a sip from his drink, turning his handsome profile away from them, towards the setting sun.
‘How do you know who he is?’ Miranda asked scornful y. ‘You don’t know anything, Archie.’
She looked at her brother crossly, as she always did when Archie showed any signs of having a different opinion from her, or an opinion about which she knew nothing.
Archie licked his lips as if he were nervous. ‘I know al men were created equal. But we’re the only different people we know,’ he said suddenly.
He looked around; his father was engrossed in conversation with Guy, Louisa and Frank were laughing together on the edge of the terrace, and Jeremy and Frances were sitting on the bench by the steps. ‘And I get cal ed a Paki at school and told to go home by boys whose parents can barely read or write, when my father’s one of the cleverest people in the world, and his family lived in a palace in Lahore.’ There were bubbles of spit in each corner of his mouth. ‘You’re stupid, Miranda. You don’t stand up to those girls who bul y you because your father’s Indian. You should tel them you’re better than any of them.’
‘They don’t bul y me,’ Miranda muttered, hanging her head, her hair fal ing in her face. ‘Shut up, Archie.’
‘They do bul y you,’ Cecily said softly. ‘They’re horrible to her,’ she told Archie. ‘They cal her horrible things.’
‘We don’t talk about it,’ Miranda hissed, grabbing Cecily’s arm. She was bright red. ‘Remember?’
‘We never talk about it!’ Cecily said loudly, wrenching her arm away. Frances looked over at her three children, questioning. They huddled back together again, mutinous but quietened.
‘There’s nothing to talk about anyway,’ Miranda whispered. She stood up straight again. ‘Al right? So shut up.’
‘Anyway,’ said Cecily. ‘I don’t think it matters if Dad grew up in a palace or not. He could have grown up in a hut. They shouldn’t do it in the first place.’
But Archie wasn’t paying attention. ‘Dad went to one of the best schools in India. With Maharajahs and – and English boys,’ he said. ‘Much posher than the pit I go to.’
‘Only because his dad was a teacher there,’ Cecily pointed out. ‘That’s what I mean, it doesn’t matter either way. Just tel them they’re bigots.’
‘No,’ Archie said. ‘I don’t want to do it like that. I want to show them I’m better than them. That I’l make more money than any of them, be more English than them, beat the faggots at their own game.’ He nodded, as though he was talking to himself. ‘I’ve got a plan, you see. We have to have a plan.’ His eyes rested, briefly, on his twin. ‘You have to understand that, both of you. They’re not going to help you. That’s al .’
The other two stared at him blankly, like he was speaking another language. And through the open window inside the house somewhere a tinkling, silvery bel rang suddenly, as if signal ing the end of something.
‘I think that means it’s time for food,’ Frances said. Miranda turned away from her siblings. She put her hand gently on Guy’s arm. ‘Guy, would you like to go in to dinner?’ she said in a husky voice.
Guy turned. ‘Oh, hel o, Miranda,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’d love to. Shal we?’ he said, turning to Arvind.
‘Wel , if we don’t,’ Arvind said, patting him on the back, ‘it’l go cold. Dinner, my friends. Let us eat.’
‘So, you’ve got two weeks,’ said Frances. ‘Is there anything you’d like to do while you’re here? Beyond relaxing and having a holiday, of course.’
Guy paused in the action of handing the salad bowl to Miranda and looked down the table at his brother, who was seated next to Frances.
‘We don’t real y have any plans,’ Frank said, staring ner vously into Frances’s amused green eyes. ‘We’d like to go to the beach. Obviously!’
He laughed, a little too loudly. Cecily, next to him, watched him in amazement. ‘Um—’ He looked at his brother for help. He was nervous, he wished it would go away. Across the table, Louisa smiled gently at him, and he looked rueful y at her.
The windows were open, the curtains drawn, and it was a stil night. Occasional y they could hear an owl hooting in the woods behind the house.
‘I’d like to go to the Minack Theatre,’ Guy said. ‘I’ve always wanted to.’
‘Wel , if we can get tickets,’ Louisa said, looking at Frank to see if he registered any interest in this activity. ‘But it’s often booked up.’
Frances waved her hand. ‘That’s fine. I know them. I’m sure if we motor over tomorrow there wil be some available. Terrific!’ She looked pleased. ‘I love the Minack, Guy, I hope you wil too. It’s such a wonderful setting. So dramatic. You feel as if at any moment the whole thing could be swept away into the sea.’
‘Is it very dangerous, the sea around here?’ Frank said. ‘We’ve lived here for eight years, if you count when it was just our holiday home,’ said Archie sagely. ‘We’re al pretty used to the sea.’
‘The rocks can be treacherous,’ Frances said, staring at her nails. ‘But you just have to be careful. Sensible.’
