Pandora comes in, advances towards her mother.
‘Darling, how nice to see you.’ Dorothea coughs. ‘Is that dress quite wise?’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I’m not sure it does you justice. It’s so floral, so. . . um. . . psychedelic. Did you make it yourself?’
‘Obviously you don’t like it.’
‘If you were sixteen, darling, it would be the greatest fun, but you’re twenty-six.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Does it offend you, shall I go home?’
Dorothea makes a rumbling noise. ‘I’m upset, to tell you the truth. I’ve been reading all this stuff about the First War. Shall we skip tea, it’s quite late, and have a drink? Sophia would have approved.’
‘Sophia’s not dead.’
‘No, but that Sophia is. Mix me a gin and tonic, will you, darling, and one for you? Daddy won’t be home for two hours at least. Oh, and that woman from the Tate is coming here next Wednesday.’
‘Oh really?’ Pandora looks all innocence. ‘Would you like me to come too?’
‘Thank you, darling. I think, this time, I’ll see her on my own.’