She led Enid into the hall, the air of a school – chalk and ink and desks that tilted up, corridors and the echoing of footsteps. Enid heard chatter and shrieks, a master saying “Quiet” as she passed a door to her right.

They arrived in Miss Barnes’ office. “Can I get you refreshment? I understand you’ve come from London. I do hope your journey wasn’t troublesome.”

“No trouble at all, thank you.” Enid sat down.

The office was neat, like Miss Barnes. A pot plant on the windowsill, a small tidy desk, a wall hung with a green baize board – elastic zigzagging over it, and timetables pinned up. Miss Barnes opened a door to her left and popped her head through. Enid heard her say, “We’ll have that coffee now, Miss Pettifore.”

“No, no,” Enid held up her hand, “I’m quite all right.”

“I expect you’re eager to see Fagus. He’s terribly keen to see you. He’s waiting in the library. I can have coffee sent down there if you like.”

“He knows I’m here?” Hadn’t she expressly said not to get him worked up? Had she not underlined the word, sensitive? She’d only managed the journey by holding on tight to the thought that he didn’t know she was coming, that she could move upon him slowly, perhaps see him first, across a lawn or in a classroom, before she spoke.

Miss Barnes sat down and pushed her glasses up. “I’m told you’ve been abroad for some years. Miss Campbell—”

“My sister?”

“Indeed. She said you were terribly pleased to be back.”

“Did she.” Enid studied the blotter: smashes of blue ink on white, half hidden beneath a folder.

“I thought we might deal with housekeeping before you see him. Better to get these things out of the way. Your sister was always most prompt in paying. In the past we sent terms fees to—” she opened the folder, “a Mr McKinley, Bircham & Co, 46 Parliament Street. Would you like to arrange the same?”

“No,” said Enid.

“You’ll settle by cheque?”

“If you insist,” said Enid, forgetting herself. Why take it out on this woman? This neat and mousey Miss Barnes who knew nothing. Who had Fagus in her care.

The thing was, she’d shut him out. The thing was, she’d pushed him to the furthest, darkest recesses of her mind, hoping she’d forget. Three children to care for. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. Well, only for a minute, but that minute, those moments, had passed. Three children to care for, and she couldn’t.

She got her cheque book out of her purse.

“Thank you,” said Miss Barnes, blotting it and putting it away.

She held the door. “Shall we?”