‘Oh, I’ve heard it’s very enjoyable,’ Katie said. She tried desperately to think of any sporting interest she might have or suddenly acquire, but nothing came to her. The last thing like that she had done was in her school gymslip, and then only under sufferance. I like reading was all she could think of. But she didn’t need to say anything and sat back, relieved, as Simon chatted away amiably.

‘My father’s always been a golfing man. Never misses a weekend if he can help it. My mother’s a golf widow. So he signed me up as soon as he could – got me some irons when I was hardly big enough to hold them! But that’s the way: start young. It’s fantastic – you should learn. Course at the moment it’s no good – half the courses have got ack-ack batteries and such-like dumped in the middle of them . . .’ He made a woeful face. ‘Not so good that, but needs must! Just as I was really beginning to improve my handicap, though . . .’ He talked on for a time about his favourite golf course, about putts and bunkers and something called ‘teeing’. Katie found her mind straying a little and glanced at the couple closest to them, the woman in a brown pork-pie hat. She and her husband seemed to be arguing. She quickly brought her attention back from eavesdropping, relieved that Simon was still talking. She was warmed by his enthusiasm, but also afraid that he might expect her to ask questions and she didn’t know what to ask. Mostly she didn’t know what he was talking about.

‘That sounds lovely,’ she managed to interject brightly, on a couple of occasions.

‘Oh, there’s nothing like it,’ he enthused, and then he was off again. She became desperate to change the subject.

‘Your dinner’ll get cold,’ she said as he was drawing breath and he stopped, smiled and said, ‘Goodness, yes – you shouldn’t get me onto golf! It’s a bit of a passion of mine. Better eat up.’

As soon as he’d taken a large mouthful she said, ‘You worked in Coventry, didn’t you? What was that like?’

‘Cov?’ he chewed, then swallowed. ‘Oh, well – I missed the worst of the bombing of course. By the time I got there the place was – well, it was in a terrible state. Had the guts blown out of it. I don’t know if you know, but before the war, old man Herbert, who I was working for, had given a fortune: a hundred thousand pounds or thereabouts, to build a museum and gallery for the city. By good luck they’d only built the basement by the time the war got going, and they stopped for the duration – otherwise the place would have been matchwood, like most of the rest. I mean seeing all the cathedral down like that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, course Herbert’s is a grand old firm – good experience before I came back under the thumb of the Old Man! I had digs there with a strict old tartar called Mrs White – watched me like a hawk, she did. I’m damn glad to get back to my own place, I can tell you.’ He picked up his spoon. ‘Come on, let’s get this pudding down us. It’s already stone cold.’