I arrived home to find the atmosphere a trifle gloomy, perhaps, but certainly not critical. My spirits lifted. I asked Mary about the day.

'My sister Janet has just rung up,' she told me.

'Oh, no ...!'

'Yes. She was thrilled about Matthew's success with the picture ...'

'And wants to come over tomorrow to discuss it?'

'Well, actually, she said Sunday. It's Patience who rang up in the afternoon and said could she come tomorrow.'

'I hope,' I told her, without much hope, 'that you put them both off, firmly.'

She hesitated. 'Well, Janet's always so difficult and insistent ...'

'Oh,' I said, and picked up the telephone.

'No, wait a minute,' she protested.

'I'm damned if we're going to sit here all the week-end listening to your sisters taking Matthew to pieces. You know just the line they'll take — gushing, inquisitive, self-congratulatory, phoney commiseration for their unfortunate sister who would have the ill-luck to have a peculiar child. To hell with it! 'I put my finger on the dial.

'No,' said Mary. 'I'd better do it.'

'All right,' I agreed. 'Tell them they can't come. That I've fixed up for us to go out with friends tomorrow and Sunday — and next week-end, too, or they'll switch it to that if you give them the chance.'

She did, quite efficiently, and looked at me, as she put the phone down, with an air of relief that cheered me immensely.

'Thank you, David ...' she began. Then the phone rang. I picked it up and listened.

'No,' I said. 'He's in bed and asleep now ... No, he'll be out all day tomorrow,' and put it down again.

'Who was that?' Mary asked.

'The Sunday Dawn, wanting an interview with Matthew.' I thought it over for a moment. 'At a guess I'd say they've just tied up Matthew the life-saver with Matthew the artist. There'll probably be more of them.'

There were. The Sunday Voice followed by The Report.

'That settles it,' I told Mary. 'We'll have to go out tomorrow. And we'll have to start early, before they come camping in the front garden. I tell you what, we'll stay away over night. Let's go and pack.'

We started upstairs, and the phone went again. I hesitated.

'Oh, leave the thing,' said Mary.

So we did — and the next time.

We managed to get away by seven o'clock, unimpeded by interviewers, and set course for the coast.

'I hope they won't break in while we're away,' said Mary. 'I feel like a refugee.'

We all began to feel like refugees a couple of hour later as we neared the sea. The roads grew thick with cars, our speed was little better than a crawl. Mysterious holdups occurred, immobilizing everything for miles.

Presently we arrived at a vast car park charging five shillings a time, collected our tilings and went in search of the sea. The pebbly beach near the park was crowded and we made our way further along and down the pebbles, until all that separated us from the shining summer sea was a band of oil and dirt about six feet wide.

'Oh, God,' said Mary. 'You're not going to bathe in that,' she told Matthew who was beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Matthew looked at the mess more closely; even he seemed a little dismayed.

'But I do want to swim now I can,' he protested.

'Not here,' said Mary. 'Oh, dear. It was a lovely beach only a few years ago. Now it's ...'

'Just the edge of the Cloaca Britannica?' I suggested.

'Let's go somewhere else. Come along, we're moving,' I called to Matthew who was still staring down at the mess in a fascinated, dreamy way. I waited for him while Polly and Mary began to pick their way up the beach.

'Chocky's back, is she?' I asked as he came up.

'How did you know?' he inquired, with surprise.

'I recognized the signs. Look, do me a favour, will you? Just keep her under cover if you can. We don't want to spoil Mummy's day—at least,' I added, 'not more than this place has already.'

'Okay,' he agreed.

We went a little inland and found a village nestled in a cleft at the foot of the Downs. * It was peaceful. And there was an inn which gave us quite a passable lunch. I asked if we could stay the night, and found that by good luck they had rooms to spare. Mary and I lazed on deckchairs in the garden. Matthew disappeared, saying vaguely that he was going to look round. Polly lay on the lawn under a tree, and started reading. After an hour or so I suggested a stroll before tea.

We found a path which followed the contour across the side of the hill and walked it in a leisurely fashion. After about half a mile we came in sight of a figure working intently on a large sketch-pad supported by his knees. I stopped. Mary said: