sitting-room carpet and Imogen was rushing at corners with a flamingo-pink feather duster.
âThpiders, thpiders!â
Sally switched off the machine.
âThereâs two telephone messages on the kitchen table. And Mrs Mitchell says sheâll bring Mikey back as sheâs got to go into Winchester anyway.â
Imogen dropped the feather duster with a scream. A real spider, small but stout of heart, was advancing up the bamboo handle.
Sally said, âDonât be silly, Imogen. Spiders are nice. Come and help me put him outside.â
Imogen scuttled behind Liza and buried her face in her skirt.
âOh, Imo, what a cowardyââ
Sally carried the duster to the window and shook the spider out into the air. With Imogen still glued to her skirt, Liza hobbled away to the kitchen and discovered that one of the telephone messages was from Marina: âMrs de Breton says she will ring again later.â Good, Liza thought, attempting to detach Imogen with one hand while carrying the kettle with the other. Imogen, in order to show that this was a game, not a spider panic, would not be detached, however, but dragged herself behind Liza, clutching her skirt.
âDonât, darling.â
Imogen clung harder.
âImogen, let go.â
Gripping the folds of brushed cotton in limpet hands, Imogen buried her face and shoved it hard against Lizaâs thigh.
âStop it, Imogen. Let go and donât be such a stupid baby.â
Imogen pretended she could not hear. She breathed a hot damp patch through the fabric against Lizaâs thigh. The telephone rang. Dragging Imogen crossly behind her, Liza limped across the room.
âHello?â
âLiza? My dear. Itâs Marina. I have to thank you for possibly the best Sunday ever. I detest Sundays but yesterday I adored.â
âWe adored having you.â
Imogen opened her mouth wide, braced her teeth against Lizaâs skirt and bit as hard as she could.
âOwââ
âMy dear,â Marina said in alarm. âWhat is happening?â
âMy horrible little daughter. Wait a momentââ
Liza put down the receiver, seized Imogen and ran with her out of the room. Imogen was bawling now, her face scarlet and furious.
âStay out there,â Liza said. âStay out, you beastly little girl.â
She shut the kitchen door and wedged a chair-back under the handle.
âIâm so sorry,â she said to Marina. âImogen suddenly bit me. I suppose itâs her revenge for my going out to work.â
âImogen? That angelic baby?â
âNot angelic,â Liza said. âAn angelic-looking fiend.â
Imogen was crashing some object on the far side of the door.
âStop it!â Liza shouted.
There was a pause while Imogen considered the effect she was having, and then the crashing began again.
âExcuse me,â Liza said desperately.
She put down the telephone, moved the chair, opened the door and seized Imogen, running with her down the hall towards Sally. As she ran, Imogen tried to bite her again.
âSally, Iâm on the phone and sheâs being frightfulââ
Sally, with whom Imogen was seldom frightful, put down her duster and took the child from Liza.
âHeading for a smacked bottom, I see.â
Liza ran back to the telephone
âHello? Oh, Iâm so sorryââ
âWhat would you say,â Marina said, âto a day in London with me? Lunch, and perhaps an exhibition. Or a movie. Iâd come down to you, but Iâm sure it would be better for you to come up to me. I just feelââ She paused and then said with great warmth, âI just feel you and I have a great deal to say to one another.â
âIâd love it,â Liza said, smiling into the telephone.
âWould you?â
âOh yesââ
âThen,â said Marina, âgo get your diary. Right now. And weâll make a date.â She