and he . . .’ She paused. ‘Oh, my goodness.’
‘What?’ said Miranda, nearly mad with curiosity. ‘He . . . wel , he put his hand on her . . . chest.’
‘Oh. Is that it?’
‘Miranda!’
‘Come on, Cecily. You’re such a baby!’ Miranda turned the tap off. ‘What did Louisa do?’
‘She pushed him away,’ Cecily said. ‘Quite hard.’
‘What did he do then?’
‘He asked some other stuff. I’m not saying.’ She was bright red now. ‘And he was angry. He said, “For God’s sake, Louisa. Don’t be so frigid.”’
‘Gosh,’ said Miranda. ‘The Bowler Hat is real y Stewart Granger. Who’d have thought it?’
‘He is
‘Oh, he’s handsome. And I think he’s rather sweet, in a buttoned-up way,’ Miranda said, musing, looking out of the window. ‘And the brother, too.’
Cecily frowned. ‘Oh, goodness,’ Miranda said in irritation, turning round and catching her sister’s expression. ‘Do grow up a bit, Cecily. You’re such a baby. Life’s not like bloody boarding school, you know. One of these days you’l realise it’s normal for men and women to want to be with each other, you know.’ She looked in the mildew- spotted mirror above the sink and ran one finger careful y over a silken dark eyebrow. ‘It’s going to be hot again today. Very hot. I hope the others don’t get hideously sunburnt at the beach.’ She smiled at Cecily, and ran one hand over her smooth, coffee-coloured skin. ‘Have you ever kissed a boy?’
‘Me?’ Cecily said pointlessly. ‘No.’ She turned away. ‘Stop making everything about boys and girls, Miranda.’
‘That’s what life is about, Cec darling,’ Miranda said. ‘Look at Mummy, flirting with every man that comes her way. Look at Louisa, sticking her bum out at the Bowler Hat, like she’s an ape in the zoo – even you, Cecily dear. It’l happen to you one day—’
‘You’re vile,’ Cecily said, pushing past her. ‘I’m not listening. Stop it.’
She picked up her swimming costume and threadbare towel, and ran downstairs.
The path down to the sea from the house was narrow, impassable in winter. Every Easter, the overgrown brambles that threatened to strangle the high hedgerows were cut away. In late July, the brambles had crept back, tangled together with goosegrass, wild roses and ivy and croaking with grass-hoppers. Cecily led the way, fol owed by Guy and Frank. Louisa and Jeremy said they’d pack up the hamper.
‘It’s only eleven, and it’s baking already,’ Cecily said. She jumped over a trailing bramble. ‘The sea wil be gorgeous, it’s lovely and warm but it doesn’t get too hot. We went to Italy a couple of years ago,’ she added airily, ‘and already by now the Mediterranean is like a bath. So warm and soupy, it’s disgusting.’
‘Where in Italy?’ Guy asked. ‘I’m going in August, for a month.’
‘I love Italy, you are lucky,’ Cecily said. ‘We went to Florence, and Siena, and then on to the Tuscan coast. I wasn’t actual y there with friends, you know. Daddy was doing a lecture,’ she explained.
‘I understand,’ said Guy gravely. ‘But I want to go back one day. When I’m a student myself.’ She slowed down a little, and turned back to look at Guy. ‘I want to travel al over Europe. I’ve drawn a map of where I’m going to go.’ She stopped. ‘Here’s the path. It’s a bit tricky, so be careful.’
The steps were only a couple of feet wide, through the cliffs. ‘Good God,’ Frank said, as they started climbing down. ‘I’m a bit unsteady.’ He looked back. ‘Wil Louisa be al right, carrying that huge great hamper down the steps?’ he asked.
‘Oh, she’l be fine,’ Cecily said blithely. ‘She’s been doing that walk since she was a toddler, Bowler Hat. Calm down.’
But Frank said he’d stay back and carry the hamper with Jeremy, so Cecily and Guy carried on down.
‘Ye gods and little fishes!’ Guy exclaimed, when they reached the bottom. He rubbed his head. ‘This is al ours? You’re sure?’
Cecily ran across the sand. ‘It’s not strictly speaking our own beach, but who else comes down here? No one!’ She grinned at him, holding her hair back from her face. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘It’s great,’ Guy said, setting down his pack. ‘Everything here is great.’ He smiled at her. ‘I don’t know how you can bear going back to school, when you live in a place like this.’ His gaze roamed back towards the fields. ‘And your parents are marvel ous people, too. So interesting, so relaxed.’
Her smile grew a little more rigid. ‘I suppose. So what are your parents like?’ she asked.
‘Oh, you know.’ Guy sat down on one of the huge black rocks. ‘They’re more Bowler Hat than . . . than your parents. Very correct. Think Weybridge is the centre of the universe. Very kind, rather strict.’ He grimaced, a bit helplessly. ‘We don’t often see eye to eye, put it that way. They certainly don’t watch
Cecily was picking up stones, but she stood up at this and looked at him. ‘Why?’ she said simply. ‘What’s wrong with a daughter like me?’
‘Nothing,’ Guy said, shaking his head at her. ‘Absolutely nothing. You’re not like most other girls, that’s al . You think for yourself, not for others.
It’s great. Wel , I think so, anyway.’
‘That doesn’t sound very al uring,’ Cecily said, scratching her arm. ‘Girls don’t want to be told they’re a bit odd, Guy. I jol y wel hope you don’t say that to girls at Oxford. No wonder you’ve had to tag along with your brother for the holidays, if that’s the way you normal y speak to your hosts.’
