black silk Alice band.
Her mother stared at her, Frank and Guy swal owed, and Cecily whistled.
‘Wow, you look great, Miranda,’ Jeremy said. He stared at her with admiration. ‘You look like a film star. Doesn’t she, Franty?’
Frances nodded. ‘Absolutely. You’re like a swan, darling.’ Guy whistled. ‘Why, Miss Kapoor, you’re ravishing,’ he said, in a terrible American accent.
‘Thank you so very much, darling,’ Miranda said, in a husky film-star voice. There was a little throb in her throat, almost as if she was nervous.
‘So very kind of you. So kind.’ She accepted a drink from Jeremy. ‘You look lovely tonight, Louisa,’ she said in a loud voice.
Louisa, visibly touched, stil looked startled. ‘Oh, Miranda . . . thank you.’
‘No one has complimented me on my dress,’ said Arvind, who was sitting in a chair on the edge of the terrace, admiring the sunset. ‘No one has said, How nice you look today, Arvind.’
‘Daddy, you look ravishing,’ Miranda said, wanting to bestow compliments on everyone now. ‘Mummy, you too.’
‘Very heartfelt, Miranda,’ Frances said drily. ‘I’m not quite ready for the bath chair and the nursing home yet, you know.’
‘Mother,’ said Miranda, in a wheedling tone. ‘Can I ask you a huge favour, please?’
‘Er—’ Frances said. ‘What is it?’
‘Can we put on the Beatles? Please? Your record player’s so much better than the one upstairs.’
Louisa clapped her hands. ‘Oh, Aunt Frances, please. I think you’d real y like it,’ she said. It was so far the only thing Miranda and Louisa had found they had in common.
‘I know it very wel ,’ Frances said drily. ‘I’ve heard that dratted album wafting down the stairs about ten times a day for the past week. And over Easter. I’m sick of it.’
‘Oh, go on,’ Miranda pleaded. She drank some more of her gin and tonic. ‘Listen to it properly. Please. Please Please Me!’ she said, and Frances laughed, and unbent.
‘Al right,’ she said.
So they ate supper to the strains of ‘Please Please Me’ playing on the old gramophone from the sitting room, and Louisa sang ‘Love Me Do’
softly in Frank’s direction, and even Cecily (who was secretly rather keen on John Lennon), sang along to ‘Twist and Shout’. ‘Because they didn’t write this one,’ she explained, when Miranda looked at her cool y and asked why she was singing, if she hated them so much?
Arvind and Frances were not censorious parents, and they al owed wine at the table, though Cecily was only al owed a glass. This night, perhaps because of the wine, or the heat coming off their sun-kissed skin, or the heady, late summer smel of lavender and sea and sun oil, the wine disappeared faster than it might have done.
‘Another bottle?’ said Mary, when she came in to put down the peach melba.
‘Oh—’ Frances, who had been working in her studio al day, was tired and rather drained. She waved her hand. ‘Yes, a couple more, please,’
she said. ‘My glass is empty.’ She looked around the table. ‘I do feel old,’ she said, to no one in particular.
It was stil very hot outside, humid and stil , and Frances went to bed after supper, pleading a headache, fol owed by Arvind. The younger generation moved out onto the terrace where they sat for a while, too tired to move, not real y saying much. Frank and Louisa stood at the edge of the group, he with one arm round her waist, a glass of wine in the other. He was rather drunk.
‘This time next week, your parents wil be here,’ Cecily said into the silence. She smoothed a hand over her brow, to the scarf she had tied back her hair with, and stood up. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, as if realising she was not in the right frame of mind for the party. ‘Goodnight, everyone.’
With her departure, it was as if the spel had been broken, and the party was deflating.
‘I’m actual y quite tired,’ Louisa said, moving Frank’s arm which was creeping up around her waist towards her breast. He drained his glass, and she moved away from him. ‘It must be al that sun.’
‘Wel , I’m off,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’l take the glasses through.’
‘I’l help you,’ Louisa said. She turned to Frank, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Night, Frank. See you – tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ Frank blinked. ‘Yes, tomorrow. You’re – going.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Louisa said.
Frank’s lips drooped. ‘Oh, right then. I suppose I’d better be off soon as wel . Night, Louisa.’
He stayed on the terrace as, one by one, the others filed into the house, saying goodnight. He was swaying slightly, but after a minute he shook his head and looked around him, as if noticing for the first time that the party was over. He stared contemplatively into the darkness.
Someone appeared around the corner, making him jump. ‘Mrs Ka— Frances, hel o,’ Frank said, his eyes widening. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed.’
Frances leaned against the wooden table, her eyes dancing. ‘I was having a cigarette down by the gazebo. It’s such a beautiful night, I couldn’t quite bear to go inside just yet.’
She hugged herself, wrapping her slim, bare arms round her black-silk-clad body. Frank stared at her.
