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Looking immensely pleased with herself, Claudia smoothed back her blonde hair and waved hello to someone behind Poppy. When she chose to use it, Poppy thought, she actually had a nice smile. ‘You see,’ Claudia went on, ‘maybe it’s different where you come from but around here introducing yourself to total strangers and asking if you can come and live with them isn’t really done.’
    â€˜No. Sorry.’ Poppy hung her head. ‘Sorry.’
    â€˜Well then, that’s that sorted out.’ Having won, Claudia was prepared to be magnanimous. ‘I’m sure you’ll find somewhere else to live soon enough,’ she said kindly. ‘By the way, did Caspar mention anything about coming down to the party?’
    The words Caspar had affectionately employed were: ‘Silly old bag, let her sweat.’ But Claudia wasn’t the only one who could be gracious in victory.
    Poppy said, ‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
    â€˜I say,’ purred Angie Slade-Welch twenty minutes later. ‘You have to admit there’s something awfully attractive about a man who just doesn’t give a damn.’
    â€˜Mother, Clark Gable’s dead.’
    â€˜Never mind Clark Gable.’ Angie was beaming away like a lighthouse. ‘Your landlord’s turned up at last. Does he cultivate that just-got-out-of-bed look or is it natural?’
    â€˜It’s accurate,’ said Claudia in pointed tones. ‘He spends his life just getting out of bed. Beds, rather. Oh for heaven’s sake,’ she sighed, catching a glimpse of the paint-spattered white jeans. ‘He could have changed into something decent before he came down. He’s not even wearing shoes .’
    â€˜Nice feet,’ Angie observed with a nod of approval. ‘Anyway, why should he wear shoes? This is his house. He can walk round stark naked if he likes.’
    Claudia cringed. ‘Don’t tell him that. You’ll only put ideas into his head.’
    â€˜Or yours.’ Angie loved to embarrass her daughter. ‘Come on, you can tell me. What really goes on in this house when there are just the two of you here? Is anything likely to develop, do you think—?’
    â€˜Mother!’
    Angie shrugged. ‘Only asking, my darling. You never tell me anything so how else can I find out? And he is irresistible, isn’t he? Go on, whisper it.’ She lifted herself playfully on tiptoe, tilting her head. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t fancy him rotten. And living together like this… well, he must have made a pass at you at some stage.’
    A glass bowl of cornflowers stood on the marble mantelpiece. Claudia, in front of it, realized she had been abstractedly de-petaling the blue flowers. This was the effect her mother always managed to have on her. What Angie actually meant was that Caspar must have made a pass, even at her, at some stage.
    He hadn’t though. In all the time she’d known him, thought Claudia, there hadn’t been the least bit of a pass made. Not even the teeniest hint of one.
    As for the other less than delicately worded inquiry… of course she fancied Caspar rotten. She did feel, however, that she was hiding it well. To look at her nobody would ever guess. And, Claudia thought with feeling, just because she did fancy him didn’t mean he wasn’t also wildly infuriating to live with. Caspar might be irresistible but he was irresponsible too.
    â€˜No,’ she told her mother, quelling the urge to seize the front of Angie’s bronze satin bustier and haul it upwards. Over the past hour it had slithered lower and lower, revealing a perilous amount of pert bosom. Her mother had no doubt arranged for this to happen. She was proud of her small but perfectly formed breasts.
    â€˜No pass? Oh bad luck.’ Angie’s blue eyes gleamed like sapphires. ‘Never mind, you can always live in hope.’ The toe of