‘I mean, I’m not a part of this. Look, keep your voice down, for God’s sake. You can see my position, can’t you? I’ve got the firm to run – there’s a war on, in case you’d forgotten. I’ll be taking over the firm one day, and I suppose one day I’ll have to get married, bring up a family with the right sort of girl. I mean if the Old Man found out – God almighty!’ He gave something that sounded like a chuckle. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about. But I’m not ready for all that yet, anyway. I’m only just setting out on the road . . .’

The coldness gripped tighter round her heart.

‘The right sort of girl?’ She could barely get the words out. ‘What sort of girl am I then?’

‘Well,’ he tried to make light of it, ‘you know what I mean! There are certain expectations of the kind of person you marry. Look, I’m sorry about it, Katiekins.’ He reached for something and, unable to see in the dark, cursed and went to twitch back the curtain a little. He was dressed for the works, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his wallet.

Her rage and hurt were so deep that the words came out small and tight. ‘Do you realize I have nowhere to go? I have no one? This is your baby.’ Then she choked. ‘I thought you loved me. You’ve just been playing with me – all this time!’

‘Oh, now don’t start all that!’ He turned, the wallet in his hand. ‘Playing? Maybe a bit, yes. But what have you been doing? I’ve given you a good time – very nice being able to hop in someone’s motor and be whisked away for an evening out. I’ll bet you don’t know anyone else in a position to give you that. So don’t pretend I’ve been all take.’ He shrugged. ‘Fair dos, Katie – we’ve had some fun, but I can’t be seen to be hanging about with . . . Well, we’re just not each other’s type deep down, are we? Look – I’ll see you’re all right.’ He held out a wad of notes. ‘Here’s enough to look after yourself for a bit. You can either, well – see to it that there’s no child . . . or if you go ahead with the brat, that amount’ll keep you for a while until you’re on your feet again.’

Brat? This man who had talked so fondly of children. She stared at him.

‘You’re paying me off? Like a cheap tart?’

‘Well, not exactly . . .’

The cup left her hand before she’d even thought. ‘I always knew you were a shallow, spoilt, boring . . .’ She heard it crack against his forehead. The dregs splashed down his face. She hurled the saucer after it, but it missed and thudded on the floor.

‘Ow! Christ, woman! What the hell’re you doing? Look, if that’s the way you’re going to behave, I’m not even going to try and discuss it with you. But it just makes my point – my family expects me to marry a respectable woman, not some easy tart like you.’