“We went on honeymoon,” said Douglas, but his face didn’t look like he’d enjoyed it.

“And by the time you came home proper, Fagus was born. I’ve known her all her life and I can tell you she’s always been like this.”

“Do you mean miserable?” asked Pat.

“I mean difficult,” said Joan, rolling off the bed onto her feet. She thought she’d heard footsteps. She opened the door. “There you are.” A maid entered with their drinks. She set them on a table at the foot of the bed. “Thank you,” said Joan and closed the door after her. “Bloody difficult.”

“Too beautiful to be anything else,” said Pat.

“Thanks,” said Joan.

“You know what I mean,” said Pat. “She looks like a statue and acts like one. Fixed mouth, long stares, a waft of, you’ll never understand me.”

“She’s had the most bloody awful shock. We all have,” said Douglas, giving Joan a cigarette.

“What will you do when you go back?” said Joan.

Douglas crossed his ankles. He took another sip of Joan’s gin. “God knows. Get help, I suppose.”

“If she goes any more mad, mother will cut her off too,” said Joan, reaching for her drink.

“Would she?” He handed it to her.

“No, no, I’m exaggerating. She’s not going to do that. I’m just saying her patience is almost worn out. She cares terribly for Fagus and Finetta, but the thought doesn’t seem to cross Enid’s mind for a moment. She hardly ever brings them up and since this—” she waved her hand vaguely – “it’s as if Enid thinks she’s the only one who cares. Mother cares, I care, you care, good Lord, even Pat cares.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said Pat.

“She pushes us all away and then complains that she’s lonely,” finished Joan. She sat on the end of the bed.

“If she cuts us off we really will have nothing.”

“Never marry for money,” said Pat.

“I didn’t marry her for her money,” said Douglas. “I married her because I thought I loved her and I thought she loved me back.”

“And your mother announced it in The Times.”

“We’d still have done it.”

“Not according to my family you wouldn’t.”

“Well that’s all past wounds, isn’t it?” said Douglas, reaching for Joan’s glass again. “The question is, what am I going to do now? I don’t think her mind can take it.”

“Another son?” said Pat.

“Another child, boy or girl.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” said Joan.

“I didn’t want any of this, you know.” He looked at his watch. “I wanted a quiet life. Children, wife—”

“A house, a motor, a nice club in town,” said Pat.

“I don’t see you doing so badly out of it,” said Douglas.

“Now, now,” said Joan.