‘That’s Cindy,’ Mark told her. ‘She belongs to Lily. They all do. And there’s Hank. He’s their father.’

A large dog, part Alsatian and part something else, had appeared around the side of the house, accompanied by Lily bearing food bowls. She set them down on the terrace, returned to the kitchen and came back with more bowls. Under Evie’s fascinated eyes the family converged on their supper, the five pups diving in vigorously.

They finished quickly, then looked around for more to eat. Cindy, evidently knowing the danger, had cleared her bowl fast. Hank seemed less well prepared, for some of his food was still there and the smallest pup advanced on him purposefully.

The huge dog began to snarl horribly, revealing terrible great teeth. Undeterred, the pup went on towards the bowl, while his father hurled warning after warning.

‘Shouldn’t we rescue that little creature?’ Evie said, beginning to rise.

But Justin laid a hand on her arm, detaining her.

‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘It’s all right.’

‘But Hank will devour the pup in one mouthful,’ she protested.

‘Nothing will happen,’ he said. ‘It never does.’

Reluctantly, she sat down and watched as the puppy, unimpressed by his father’s belligerence, reached the bowl and tucked in.

At once the snarls stopped. Hank was left looking around with a puzzled expression as if asking what he was expected to do now.

Something in the huge animal’s air of baffled pathos struck Evie as irresistibly funny and she began to laugh.

‘That poor dog,’ she choked. ‘Beneath all the aggro he’s just an old softy. Oh, dear-’

Waves of laughter swept her again.

‘Come here, boy,’ she said, holding out her hand. Hank came at once and sat gazing up at her, silently seeking sympathy.

‘Poor fellow, you hardly had any supper,’ she said, taking his face between her hands. ‘Here, let’s see if you like spaghetti. Yes, you do, don’t you?’