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have to get out and back in time for the Rawlinsons,” Ian said. “They’re regulars and they’re punctual.”
    “We can’t afford to lose the Whiteacres, Ian.”
    “We won’t lose them. They’ve paid.”
    “They’ve only paid a part of what it’ll come to once we add the extras. And they could do all that with another firm. We’ve given our word about the work—we’ll have topay the boys.”
    “What other firm would take them on if we send out the story?”
    “Perhaps. G & T would do it.”
    “Of course. Worst safety record in the business. It’s not a question of one hunter and a tent—they’ll want a large outfit. Well. We’ll leave on the right date and meet you. Stop for lunch. We’ll draw up a plan.”
    Nicholas couldn’t stay. He said something about later that night. As he left, he waved to the Binsteads. Stan nodded, Millie lifted her hand and smiled.
    Ian began the shooting lesson. Stan offered to show Millie himself, but was told that this was one of those activities, like driving a car, where the husband made a worse teacher than anyone else.
    On their way back to the bungalow, Stan asked about the farm.
    “You’ve heard about the ground-nut scheme?” Ian said. “A fiasco. I was in on that. A lot of us were. It’s mostly coffee here, but that hasn’t been too successful recently. Terrible thing, the weather.”
    Stan wished that he hadn’t asked.
    “Friend of mine went into flowers, grows daffodils. Pops them on a plane, they’re in London before you know it, all over the world. Coining money. If I’d thought of it at the time—but, you know how it is: one doesn’t. And then it’s better to see the thing through than pull out and change. That might be the wrong moment, too. Thought he was a bloody fool at the time. Now he’s laughing.”
    “Everything’s risky nowadays, I guess,” Stan said.
    “That’s it. We thought we’d made the last big decision in our lives when we opted to stay on. But nothing’s certain.”
    “It never was,” Millie said. “That’s the way life has always been, hasn’t it? Businesses can go broke, countries can go broke, fashions change, politics change. That’s what life is: movement.”
    Ian chuckled. Stan was astounded. The speech, even the fact that she had spoken at all, was so unlike her.
    She added, “Of course, it’s always nicer when things go well. I hope it picks up for you soon.”
    “Thank you,” Ian said. “We’ve given the children a start, at all events. That’s the important thing.”
    Millie asked about the children. The Fosters had two boys and a girl, all of them grown up now and making their way in the world. The daughter and one of the sons already had children of their own. The other son had been divorced and everyone—even the boy himself—agreed that it was his own fault. But people never took advice, and especially not children.
    “Or parents,” Millie said, which made Ian laugh again.
    Their lunch was simple and pleasant. Pippa said that if the Whiteacres really intended to take their time, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t go in their place. “Why not?” Ian asked. “There’s nothing you can’t leave. Come along. You can do those paintings you’re always talking about.”
    “I shall one day, you know.”
    “Do,” Millie told her. “Come with us.”
    “You see? You owe it to your public,” Ian said. “Those are all her paintings over there, you know. I’m constantly being threatened with more. No space left anywhere.”
    “Let me think about it.”
    “Don’t think. Decide.”
    Stan said, “That sounds like one of those battalion mottoes.”
    “It’s a family quotation,” Pippa explained. “It’s whatwe used to say to the children when they wouldn’t make up their minds. We went back to London once when they were small.”
    “That was frightful. That was when it came to me,” Ian said. “Looking up friends, trying to find a job in the city. Hopeless. And all at once I