The parochial medic said the general weakness came from the virus, not the brain, and gave him medicine that was supposed to kill the virus and wake him up; he said both sight and strength would come back once the virus was got rid of, but the medicine only made Fagus weaker. She knew that now, now that she’d thrown it away. His wound was covered by new hair and he looked angelic, like he used to. She locked the door and pulled the armchair closer to the bed. From beneath it, she took out the book.

An hour later, in the sitting room, while she stared at the fire, Douglas drained his whisky and got up for another. “Can I get you anything?” His tie was loosened, his suit was creased.

She shook her head. He stank of trains. If only he’d have a bath the moment he came in.

“How is he?” He removed the cork stopper and laid it beside the bottle.

“Fine.” He always asked that on a Friday night. “Perhaps a lemon soda.”

He opened the cabinet and took out another glass. “Good week?”

She leaned back and resumed her gaze at the flames, which danced prettily in the hearth. He always asked that too. “Yes, fine.”

He handed her her drink and sat down, his legs outstretched. He took another cigarette from the case on the table beside him. “I’ve had a hell of a time.”

She picked up her embroidery. “Port Elizabeth?”

“They’re chomping at the bit.” He slugged his drink.

“Will you have to go out there?”

“I hope not.”

He’d been going on about railways in South Africa for months. His firm had the contract. Nothing bored her more. Her life was the nursery, her weeks a blessed, silent contract with God that broke only when her husband came home. All she had to do was give birth, heal her eldest son, and she could be gone. If it wasn’t a boy there was nothing more she could do, but Christ was with her, and Christ had given her a chance.

“I’ll just pop up and give him a kiss goodnight.” Douglas drained his glass.

“Yes, do.” He’d be asleep. “Finetta’s in with Mary tonight.” The new nanny was young but capable. When Enid had announced she was pregnant, her mother had insisted they get more help than Everett and vague girls from the village. She’d sent Mary from an agency in London. “She’s teething,” called Enid after him. She unpicked a stitch as he left the room. It wasn’t as if what she was doing with Fagus would be completely foreign to Douglas. He’d introduced it to her, after all. He’d have no right to say anything. He knew perfectly well it was how they’d fallen in love.