By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. ‘I find you excessively rude, both of you,’ said the lady crossly. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. So I introduced him to my father-in-law like a shot. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on.
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