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shouldn’t complain. But I can’t help wishing I could find a job that’s – you know – more inspiring. I’ve always wanted to go to art school, but Phil says it’s too late.’
    â€˜Too late?’ he echoed. She looked about eighteen, though with a child of four, that wasn’t very likely.
    â€˜Most people go straight from school, so I suppose he’s got a point. The maddening thing is, I was accepted myself when I was only sixteen and a half – offered a place on the foundation course at Wimbledon School of Art. I was over the moon about it. I’d spent all my spare time drawing, filling loads of sketchbooks to impress them at the interview, but …’ She shrugged, slipped one bangle off her wrist and started twisting it round and round between her fingers. ‘I’m afraid the interview was as far as it ever got. The course itself never happened – like a lot of other things. I mean, you probably won’t believe this, but I’ve never been abroad before.’
    He did find it hard to believe. Surely everyone went abroad these days, if only on package tours? He’d spent half his childhood traipsing from pillar to post, and still travelled for his job: long-haul trips to Kenya at least three times a year.
    Penny removed a second bangle, laid one on top of the other on the table. ‘My mother was widowed in her thirties – left with four small girls, but not much else. So we never really went away, except to stay with relatives, or odd trips to the seaside. Then I married very early, and Phil had this thing about the Norfolk Broads. He’d stayed there in his childhood, you see, so it had very happy memories for him, and he liked playing at being a ten-year-old again. He also bought a share in a boat, which tied us down, in a way, prevented us ever going anywhere new. I wonder if Khadisha likes boats,’ she added, with an unconvincing laugh.
    â€˜ I like boats,’ said Pippa, grabbing the two bracelets and slipping them on her own wrist.
    â€˜Yes, I know you do, pet. Remember that day you fell into the river and ruined your new shoes?’
    â€˜I’m hungry,’ the child said fractiously, dismissing boats and shoes.
    Daniel opened the menu again, reminded of his duties. They hadn’t even ordered yet and he’d been remiss about the translating. ‘Well,’ he said, flicking swiftly through the entrées . ‘There seem to be a lot of Ps to choose from for the main course. Poulet – chicken. Pot-au-feu – that’s a sort of casserole with beef and vegetables. Pore, pigeons, pieds de cochon .’
    â€˜What’s that last one?’ Penny asked.
    â€˜Pig’s feet.’
    â€˜You can’t eat feet,’ said Pippa.
    â€˜You can,’ said Daniel. ‘People do in France.’
    â€˜With shoes and socks on?’ Pippa asked, her eyes opening even wider.
    â€˜Well, I’m not sure about the shoes. We couldn’t have them anyway, because they don’t begin with P.’
    â€˜Pigs are my favourite animals.’ Pippa had regained her confidence and was almost flirting with him now, head tipped to one side, pink tongue-tip poised between her lips.
    â€˜Well, in that case,’ Daniel said, ‘perhaps you shouldn’t eat them.’
    â€˜I’m having chips, not pigs.’
    â€˜Yes, that’s right – pommes frites . But you can have something else as well.’
    â€˜Ice-cream!’ she yelled, eyeing the exotic-looking contents of a tall glass sundae dish, which had just been whisked past on a tray.
    â€˜I’m afraid that begins with G – la glace . But if you wouldn’t mind a peach with it, and some delicious raspberry sauce, then you could have a P – P – Pêche Melba .’
    â€˜What’s a P–P– …?’
    â€˜Look, pipe down, you two,’ Penny ordered, raising her eyes to heaven in a