"Bring the cushions, Fanshaw," shouted Cham, who was kneeling beside the open picnic basket with a bottle in his hand.
Fanshaw's hands were sticky. The warm champagne had made him feel a little sick. He sat with his back against a tree, his knees drawn up to his chin, looking across the gutted lunch basket at Cham and Phoebe, who lay on their backs and shrieked with laughter. Beside him he was conscious of the blue girl sitting stiff on a cushion, bored, afraid of spoiling her dress. Overhead the afternoon sun beat heavily on the broad maple leaves; patches of sunlight littered the ground like bright torn paper. Through the trees came the mud smell and the restless sheen of the river. Fanshaw was trying to think of something to say to the girl beside him; he daren't turn towards her until he had thought of something to say.
"Doggone it I've got an ant down my back," cried Cham, sitting up suddenly, his face pink.
"Momma catch it," spluttered Phoebe in the middle of a gust of laughter.
Cham was scratching himself all over, under his arm, round his neck, making an anxious monkey face till at last he ran his hand down the back of his neck.
"Yea, I got him."
"He's a case, he is," tittered Elise.
Cham was on his hands and knees whispering something in Phoebe's ear, his nose pressed into her frizzy chestnut hair.
"Stop blowin' in my ear," said the pink girl, pushing him away. "Wouldn't that jar you?"
"What we need is juss a lil more champagny water." Cham picked the two bottles out of the basket and tipped them up to the light. "There's juss a lil drop for everybody."