What became of us

But they had learned to cope, the two of them. Every time there was a setback Marjorie would put a brave face on it and call it a character-forming experience. Annie had had enough experiences to form fifty characters by the time she went up to Oxford, and yet silly things like sherry parties and the casual cruelty of emotionally retarded rich boys had undermined her self-confidence more than anything life had previously thrown at her.
    Annie stepped out of the bath and put on the towelling robe that was hanging from a hook at the back of the door. It was luxuriously capacious with over-long sleeves and enough material to go round her twice. Inside it, Annie felt almost elfin. With perfect timing, her cafetière arrived and she sat down at the little desk, took some of the notepaper headed Randolph Hotel from the writing folder, and her Mont Blanc biro from her red leather Fendi handbag and sat poised for a moment or two. Then she put the pen down and picked up OK! to have a quick look at Posh’s dress before she started on her speech.

Chapter 19

    They reached the river just as it began to rain.
    ‘What are we going to do now?’ Roy asked, still holding his jacket over his head, though they were sheltering in the shed where the punts were kept. It smelt of creosote.
    Manon shrugged.
    ‘I’m hungry,’ Lily said.
    ‘I’m not,’ Saskia added, ‘I’m starving!’
    Roy groaned.
    ‘I’ve forgotten all about lunch. I never eat during the day, you see, and... and there’s no excuse, is there?’
    ‘It’s not such a big deal,’ Manon said, alarmed to see him floundering: ‘we’ll get something here. It’s on me,’ she added.
    She pushed open the door to the Cherwell Boat House restaurant. The last two diners were paying their bill.
    ‘Last bookings were at two,’ the waitress told her.
    ‘Oh.’
    The proprietor came out from the kitchen, saw Manon, the children and the rain bucketing down outside.
    ‘It’s OK, come and sit down, but you’ll have to have the salad and pasta.’
    ‘Thank you!’
    Roy watched the man’s face change from slightly cross to blushingly privileged as Manon smiled her gratitude at him.
    ‘Haven’t you already had lunch?’ Roy said to her as they sat down at a wooden table.
    ‘Only fishcakes,’ Manon said.
    She was sitting opposite him with Saskia, and Lily was beside him. Lily’s chin just reached above the top of the table. Manon picked up a menu and Saskia imitated her, looking at it ever so seriously as if she could read what it said.
    ‘Ricotta and mushroom tortellini in a creamy cheese sauce,’ Manon read from the menu. ‘Sounds delicious, doesn’t it?’
    ‘No,’ said Lily.
    ‘Oh Lily!’ Manon scolded lightly. Her slight French accent put the emphasis on the second syllable of the name.
    Lily frowned.
    ‘I think it sounds delicious, Manon,’ Saskia said, looking up at her devotedly.
    There was something about the child’s expression and the way that Manon smiled back at her that made it look as if the two of them shared a secret. It was exactly the way Penny and Manon had been together. Penny’s natural grace had shone a flattering light on almost anyone in her company, but when she was with Manon, the pair of them seemed almost a greater entity than the sum of both their characters. If it hadn’t been so joyous to see their pleasure in each other’s company, he would have felt excluded.
    ‘In fact, it is delicious!’ Lily said with surprise as the food arrived and she set about manoeuvring the adult-sized fork towards her mouth, dripping sauce on the slats of the table.
    ‘I’m glad we found you,’ Roy spoke across the table to Manon.
    ‘You sold the house,’ she said. When she spoke to him her words were clipped.
    ‘You went there?’
    She nodded.
    ‘It happened quickly. I didn’t want to let the sale fall through. I’m in a better position to call the shots on the purchase now.’ He stopped talking suddenly as if he had just heard himself. ‘I think I’ve been spending too much time with estate agents lately. I should have let you know. I thought the girls would tell you. Sometimes they’re so grown up I forget that they’re only five and three. I probably should have let you all know.’
    ‘It’s OK,’ Manon interrupted his meandering selfincrimination, ‘it’s really nothing to do with anyone else.’
    She picked up the menu again.
    ‘Let’s all have home-made ice cream,’ she said.
    ‘Now I know why they enjoy