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enquired Geoffrey.

      ‘They are such squares,’ said Rose. ‘You wouldn’t believe it.’

      ‘They aren’t so bad,’ said James, not liking this. ‘But we have to make allowances for people who are not yet politically conscious.’

      ‘Oh, so you are going to make your parents politically conscious – don’t make me laugh,’ said Rose.

      ‘I didn’t say so,’ said James, turning away from his cousin, and towards Frances. ‘I’ve seen Dad’s photographs of Nairobi. It’s groovy. That’s why I’m going.’

      Frances understood that there was no need to say anything as crass as, Have you got a passport? A visa? How are you going to pay for it? And you are only seventeen.

      James was floating in the arms of a teenage dream, which was not underpinned by boring realities. He would find himself as if by magic in Nairobi’s main street … there he would run into Comrade Mo … be one of a group of loving comrades where he would soon be a leader, making fiery speeches. And, since he was seventeen, there would be a girl. How did he imagine this girl? Black? White? She had no idea. James went on talking about his father’s memories of Kenya. The grim truths of war had been erased, and all that remained were high blue skies, and all that space and a good chap (corrected to a good type) who had saved his father’s life. A black man. An Askari, risking his life for the British soldier.

      What had been Frances’s equivalent dream at, not sixteen, she had been a busy schoolgirl; but nineteen? Yes, she was pretty sure she had had fantasies, because of Johnny’s immersion in the Spanish Civil War, of nursing soldiers. Where? In a rocky landscape, with wine, and olives. But where? Teenage dreams do not need map points.

      ‘You can’t go to Kenya,’ said Rose. ‘Your parents will stop you.’

      Brought down, James reached for his glass and emptied it.

      ‘Since the subject has come up,’ said Frances, ‘I want to talk about Christmas?’ Faced with already apprehensive faces, Frances found herself unable to go on. They knew what they were going to hear, because Andrew had already warned them.

      Now he said, ‘You see, there isn’t going to be a Christmas here this year. I am going to Phyllida for Christmas lunch. She rang me and said she hasn’t heard from my … from Johnny, and she says she dreads Christmas.’

      ‘Who doesn’t?’ said Colin.

      ‘Oh, Colin,’ said Sophie, ‘don’t be like that.’

      Colin said, not looking at anyone, ‘I am going to Sophie’s because of her mother. She can’t be alone on Christmas Day.’

      ‘But I thought you were Jewish,’ said Rose to Sophie.

      ‘We have always done Christmas,’ said Sophie. ‘When Daddy was alive …’ She went silent, biting her lips, her eyes filling.

      ‘And Sylvia here is going with Julia to Julia’s friend,’ said Andrew.

      ‘And I,’ said Frances, ‘propose to ignore Christmas altogether.’

      ‘But, Frances,’ said Sophie, ‘that’s awful, you can’t.’

      ‘Not awful. Wonderful,’ said Frances. ‘And now, Geoffrey, don’t you think you should go home for Christmas? You really should, you know.’

      Geoffrey’s polite face, ever attentive to what might be expected of him, smiled agreement. ‘Yes, Frances. I know. You are right. I will go home. And my grandmother is dying,’ he added, in the same tone.

      ‘Then, I’ll go home too,’ said Daniel. His red hair flamed, and his face went even redder, as he said, ‘I’ll come and visit you, then.’

      ‘As you like,’ said Geoffrey revealing by this ungraciousness that perhaps he had been looking forward to a Daniel-free hols.

      ‘James,’ said Frances, ‘please go home.’

      ‘Are you throwing me out?’ he said, good-humouredly. ‘I don’t blame you. Have I outstayed my welcome?’

      ‘For now, yes,’ said Frances, who was by nature unable to throw anyone out permanently. ‘But what about school, James? Aren’t you going to finish school?’

      ‘Of course he is,’ said Andrew, revealing that admonitions must have occurred. His four years seniority gave him the right. ‘It’s ridiculous, James,’ he went on, talking direct to James. ‘You’ve only got a year to go to A-levels. It won’t kill you.’

      ‘You don’t know my school,’ said James, but desperation had entered the equation. ‘If you did …’

      ‘Anyone can suffer for a year,’ said Andrew. ‘Or even three. Or four,’ he said, glancing guiltily at his mother: he was making revelations.

      ‘Okay,’ said James. ‘I will. But …’ and here he looked at Frances, ‘without the liberating airs of Frances’s house I don’t think I could survive.’

      ‘You can visit,’ said Frances. ‘There’s always weekends.’

      There were left now Rose and the dark horse Jill, the always well-brushed, well-washed, polite, blonde girl, who hardly ever spoke, but listened, how she did listen.

      ‘I’m not going home,’ said Rose. ‘I won’t go.’

      Frances said, ‘You do realise that your parents could sue me for alienating your affections – well, that kind of thing.’

      ‘They don’t care about me,’ declared Rose. ‘They don’t give a fuck.’

      ‘That’s not true,’ said Andrew. ‘You may not like them but they certainly care about you. They wrote to me. They seem to think I am a good influence.’

      ‘That’s a joke,’ said Rose.

      The hinterlands behind this tiny exchange were acknowledged as glances were exchanged among the others.

      ‘I said I am not going,’ said Rose. She was darting trapped glances around at them all: they might have been her enemies.

      ‘Listen, Rose,’ said Frances, with the intention of keeping her dislike of the girl out of her voice, ‘Liberty Hall is closing down over Christmas.’ She had not specified for how long.

      ‘I can stay in the basement flat, can’t I? I won’t be in the way.’

      ‘And how are you going to …’ but Frances stopped.

      Andrew had an allowance and he had been giving money to Rose. ‘She could claim that I treated her badly,’ said Andrew. ‘Well, she does complain, she tells everyone how I wronged her. Like the wicked squire and the milkmaid. The trouble was, she was all for me, but I wasn’t for her.’ Frances had thought, Or all for the glamorous Eton boy and his connections? Andrew had said, ‘I think that coming here was what did it. It was such a revelation to her. It’s a pretty limited set-up – her parents are very nice …’

      ‘And are you – and Julia – going to keep her indefinitely?’

      ‘No,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ve said, enough. After all, she’s done very well out of a kiss or two in the moonlight. ‘

      But now they were faced with a guest who would not leave.

      Rose looked as if she were being threatened with imprisonment, with torture. An animal in a too small cage could look like that, glaring out, glaring around.

      It was all out of proportion, ridiculous … Frances persisted, though the girl’s violence was making her own heart beat, ‘Rose, just go home for Christmas, that’s all. Just do that. They must be worried sick about you. And you have to talk to them about school …’ At this Rose exploded up out of the chair, and said, ‘Oh, shit, it just needed that …’ and she ran out of the room, howling, tears scattering. They listened to her thud down the stairs to the basement

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