want to spoil things for you both. You obviously feel very close to each other, and I can't believe she won't think I'm alienating your affections. After all, she's only thirteen. It's a difficult sort of age, and a little jealousy would be the most understandable and natural reaction."
He sighed. "How can I convince you that it won't be like that?"
"Three's a bad number at the best of times. Sometimes, she's bound to want you to herself, and I may not be perceptive enough to get out of the way. Admit it, Cosmo, I do have a case."
Considering this, he did not reply at once. At last, with a sigh, he said, "There is obviously no way I can persuade you that none of what you fear is going to happen. So let's indulge in a little sideways thinking. How would it be if, while Antonia is with us, we ask another person to come and stay? Make it a sort of house party. Would that ease your mind?"
This suggestion put an entirely different aspect to the situation. "Yes. Yes, it would. You're brilliant. Who shall we ask?"
"Anyone you like, provided it's not a young, handsome, and virile man."
"What about my mother?"
"Would she come?"
"Like a shot."
"She won't expect us to occupy separate bedrooms, will she?
I'm too old to go corridor-creeping, I'd probably fall down the stairs."
"My mother has illusions about nobody, least of all me." She sat up, suddenly excited. "Oh, Cosmo, you'll adore her. I can't wait for you to meet her."
"In that case, we have no time to waste." He heaved himself out of his chair and reached for his jeans. "Come on, girl, move your backside. If we can get your mother lined up and Antonia organized, then they can meet up at Heathrow and come out together on the same flight. Antonia's always a bit windy about flying alone, and your mother would probably enjoy the company."
"But where are we going?" Olivia asked, buttoning her shirt.
"We'll walk up to the village and use the telephone in Pe-dro's. Have you got her number at Podmore's Thatch?"
He said the name with relish, causing it to sound more em-barrassing than usual, and looked at his watch. "It's about six-thirty in England. Will she be at home? What will she be doing at six-thirty in the evening?"
"She'll be gardening. Or cooking dinner for ten people. Or pouring someone a drink."
"Can't wait to get her here."
The flight from London via Valencia was due at nine-fifteen. Maria, who could not wait to see Antonia again, volunteered to come in and cook the dinner. Leaving her to prepare this mammoth feast, they drove to the airport. They were both, though neither would admit it, in a state of some nervous excitement and because of this arrived far too early, and so had to hang about the soulless Arrivals lounge for half an hour or more before the girl on the Tannoy announced in crackling Spanish that the plane had touched down. Then there was more delay, while passengers disembarked, went through Immigration, claimed their luggage; but finally the doors opened, and a flood of humanity surged to freedom. Tourists, pale-faced and travel-weary; families of locals with strings of children; sinister dark-spectacled gentlemen in sharp suits; a priest and a pair of nuns; . . . and then at last, just as Olivia was beginning to fear that they had missed the flight, Penelope Keeling and Antonia Hamilton.
They had found a trolley on which to pile their luggage, but had chosen one with balky wheels that kept shooting off in the wrong direction, and for some reason this had them both in giggles, and so engrossed were they in talking and laughing and trying to keep the wretched thing on a straight course, that they did not instantly catch sight of Cosmo and Olivia.
Part of Olivia's nervous apprehension sprang from the fact that she was always afraid, after a period of separation from Penelope, that her mother might have changed. Not aged, exactly, but perhaps appear tired, or diminished in some
He sighed. "How can I convince you that it won't be like that?"
"Three's a bad number at the best of times. Sometimes, she's bound to want you to herself, and I may not be perceptive enough to get out of the way. Admit it, Cosmo, I do have a case."
Considering this, he did not reply at once. At last, with a sigh, he said, "There is obviously no way I can persuade you that none of what you fear is going to happen. So let's indulge in a little sideways thinking. How would it be if, while Antonia is with us, we ask another person to come and stay? Make it a sort of house party. Would that ease your mind?"
This suggestion put an entirely different aspect to the situation. "Yes. Yes, it would. You're brilliant. Who shall we ask?"
"Anyone you like, provided it's not a young, handsome, and virile man."
"What about my mother?"
"Would she come?"
"Like a shot."
"She won't expect us to occupy separate bedrooms, will she?
I'm too old to go corridor-creeping, I'd probably fall down the stairs."
"My mother has illusions about nobody, least of all me." She sat up, suddenly excited. "Oh, Cosmo, you'll adore her. I can't wait for you to meet her."
"In that case, we have no time to waste." He heaved himself out of his chair and reached for his jeans. "Come on, girl, move your backside. If we can get your mother lined up and Antonia organized, then they can meet up at Heathrow and come out together on the same flight. Antonia's always a bit windy about flying alone, and your mother would probably enjoy the company."
"But where are we going?" Olivia asked, buttoning her shirt.
"We'll walk up to the village and use the telephone in Pe-dro's. Have you got her number at Podmore's Thatch?"
He said the name with relish, causing it to sound more em-barrassing than usual, and looked at his watch. "It's about six-thirty in England. Will she be at home? What will she be doing at six-thirty in the evening?"
"She'll be gardening. Or cooking dinner for ten people. Or pouring someone a drink."
"Can't wait to get her here."
The flight from London via Valencia was due at nine-fifteen. Maria, who could not wait to see Antonia again, volunteered to come in and cook the dinner. Leaving her to prepare this mammoth feast, they drove to the airport. They were both, though neither would admit it, in a state of some nervous excitement and because of this arrived far too early, and so had to hang about the soulless Arrivals lounge for half an hour or more before the girl on the Tannoy announced in crackling Spanish that the plane had touched down. Then there was more delay, while passengers disembarked, went through Immigration, claimed their luggage; but finally the doors opened, and a flood of humanity surged to freedom. Tourists, pale-faced and travel-weary; families of locals with strings of children; sinister dark-spectacled gentlemen in sharp suits; a priest and a pair of nuns; . . . and then at last, just as Olivia was beginning to fear that they had missed the flight, Penelope Keeling and Antonia Hamilton.
They had found a trolley on which to pile their luggage, but had chosen one with balky wheels that kept shooting off in the wrong direction, and for some reason this had them both in giggles, and so engrossed were they in talking and laughing and trying to keep the wretched thing on a straight course, that they did not instantly catch sight of Cosmo and Olivia.
Part of Olivia's nervous apprehension sprang from the fact that she was always afraid, after a period of separation from Penelope, that her mother might have changed. Not aged, exactly, but perhaps appear tired, or diminished in some
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