practical Louisa again. ‘Frank, can you give them out?’
‘Of course.’
‘We walked pretty fast,’ Louisa went on. ‘It’s lovely, there’s a good breeze when you’re up on the path. I saw a lovely flower, quite unusual. What did we think it was, Frank?’
‘You thought it might be a Meadow Cranesbil ,’ Frank said. ‘Wow,’ said Miranda, gingerly inspecting the pile of sandwiches Frank was offering her. ‘Fascinating. What japes.’
* * *
After lunch, Jeremy, Frank and Louisa lit cigarettes, and sat back. The occasional light spray of water hit them, but otherwise everything was stil .
‘I want to get as boiling as possible, and then dive into the sea,’ said Cecily, closing her eyes and stretching out. ‘So that my skin feels hot to the touch.’ She slid one slim leg across a smooth black stone. ‘It burns!’ she said.
‘It’s great,’ Frank said. ‘We could be in Greece. Or India.’
‘Or France, it gets jol y hot in France,’ Jeremy said. ‘I want to go to India one day,’ Cecily said. ‘Go and see where Daddy’s from. Except it’s Pakistan now, Lahore.’
‘I want to go to India,’ Guy said. ‘Some friends of mine thought they’d go after they’ve come down from Oxford.’
The others were silent. ‘It’s a long way,’ said Louisa eventual y.
‘Wel , but we’ve got the rest of our lives,’ Guy said easily. ‘I want a bit of adventure before I settle down. In ten years’ time, I’l be a boring old something-or-other. I want to be able to look back and say, “Oh, yes. I did that.” Before I go back to sleep by the fire.’
‘You’l never be a boring old something-or-other, Guy,’ Frank told his brother. ‘I wil be. Not you. You’l be living in a flat on the Left Bank, wearing a beret and smoking Gitanes, talking about the summer you spent with Arvind Kapoor.’
Guy gave a short laugh. ‘The Bowler Hat’s right,’ Louisa said. ‘You’l be up at the Moulin Rouge every night, hanging out with cancan dancers and drinking absinthe—’
‘I say, when is this?’ Guy said, amused. ‘1890? Is Toulouse Lautrec my best friend?’
Louise looked rather stumped. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Where wil you be in ten years, then?’ Guy asked her. ‘Not one of the cancan dancers, I’l bet, Louisa. Not you.’
‘Oh. I don’t know. Where do you think I’l be?’
Guy put his coffee cup down and stared out to sea. ‘I think you’l be in New York, running the UN.’
‘Oh, Guy! Come off it!’ Louisa said. ‘He’s right,’ Frank said. ‘I think you wil .’
‘Yes,’ said Archie. ‘Hundreds of men underneath you. You’d like that, Louisa.’
‘Shut up, Archie, you little pig,’ Louisa said. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘God, you’re vile, you real y are.’ Guy and Frank watched her, puzzled. She turned her back on Archie and swivel ed round to face Frank. ‘You don’t think that, real y, do you?’
Frank was stil staring at Archie in confusion, but he stopped and wrinkled his nose. ‘Don’t know, but I can imagine it, Louisa. You’re a terribly organised girl. Awful y clever, much more than me. You’re a real go- getter.’
‘Wel , I don’t know if I want to be a go-getter,’ Louisa said archly. She seemed a little disturbed by this. ‘Perhaps I just want to be at home. Have some children, look after them. Be a good wife.’
‘Urgh.’ Cecily made vomiting sounds behind her. ‘Please, Louisa.’
‘You could do both, you know,’ Guy said. Louisa looked at him blankly.
‘What about you?’ she said, gently nudging Frank. ‘Where do you think you’l be in ten years’ time? What wil you be doing?’
‘Oh. Um.’ Frank looked uncomfortable. ‘Don’t know.’ He picked at the embroidered logo on his polo shirt. ‘Sounds rather boring, if you say it out loud.’
‘Say it,’ Guy said quietly. ‘It’s not boring, old man, not if you real y want it.’
Frank stretched his arms above his head, faux-nonchalantly, and said, ‘Wel , it’s not much, real y. Think about having a nice house somewhere.
With a little drive, some hedges.’
‘Hedges?’ Cecily said, almost in disbelief. ‘Why—’ Guy nudged her.
‘And you know – I’d have qualified as a chartered surveyor. Be working at a good company. I’d get the train into town every day. Work with some nice chaps. I suppose, I never thought about it much. And – and wel ,’ he said, getting into his stride. ‘There’d be a . . . a family at home for me when I got back.’
‘You real y are the last of the great romantics, Bowler Hat,’ Cecily said. ‘Who is this family, a load of gypsies you’ve welcomed into your home?’
Frank took Louisa’s hand. ‘No,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘My own family. My wife, and our children.’
There was a silence as the others digested this and Louisa’s eyes shone.
‘If she’s back from work, of course,’ added Frank, breaking in again. ‘Er – she might stil be working, of course.
