On Monday Molly came up to London and we shopped and had tea and Rick took us to a play at the Haymarket. The next day we were to meet Richard at Scott’s in Piccadilly for lunch, and to say good-bye. Then I was to join Paula, and Rick would take Molly to see friends of Uncle David’s in the afternoon. The next day we were all going away, Rick to his firm’s Branch in Edinburgh, Molly back to Cliff House, and I to Paris. In spite of the ever-present trouble of Father’s death I was more happy than I would ever have thought possible, and this was what Uncle David, Rick and Molly had hoped the diversion would do for me. Molly and I waited outside Scott’s and then we saw Rick coming through the crowd. Molly was pretty and brown. Her chunky schoolgirl figure was lengthening out into slenderness but her laughing face was still the face of a child. Rick took hold of us and piloted us both into Scott’s and we were taken to a room upstairs. We followed the waiter across the room to a table near the window.
