‘Was it you or Walter who didn’t want children?’ May asked.

‘Children just didn’t come.’

‘Walter must have wanted them. When he was engaged to me we talked of having three.’

June looked upset but May could have talked of Walter all day long.

‘He was only sixty-five,’ she said. ‘That’s young to die these days. You never told me what he died of.’

‘Cancer,’ said June. ‘They operated but he never regained consciousness.’

‘Just like mother,’ said May. Suppose June had had cancer and had died, what would have happened then? Remembering Walter’s tender look and strong handclasp at her father’s funeral, May thought he would have married her. She twisted the ring on her little finger. ‘You were almost like a second wife, weren’t you? It must be a difficult position.’

‘I’d much rather not talk about it,’ said June, and with her handkerchief to her eyes she left the room.

May was happy. For the first time in forty years she was happy. She busied herself about the house, caring for June’s things, dusting and polishing, pausing to look at a picture and reflecting that Walter must often have looked at it. Sometimes she imagined him sitting in this chair or standing by that window, his heart full of regret for what he might have had. And she thought now, while he had been longing for her she, far away, had been crying for him. She never cried now, though June did.

‘I’m an old fool, I can’t help giving way. You’re strong, May, but I’m weak and I miss him so.’

‘Didn’t I miss him?’

‘He was always fond of you. It upset him a lot to think you were unhappy. He often talked about you.’ June looked at her piteously. ‘You have forgiven me, haven’t you, May?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ said May. She was a little surprised at herself but, yes, she had forgiven June. ‘I think you’ve been punished for what you did.’ A loveless marriage, a husband who talked constantly of another woman . . .

‘I’ve been punished,’ said June and she put her arms round May’s neck.

The strong and the weak. May remembered those words when a movement downstairs woke her in the night. She heard footsteps and the sound of a door being forced. It was the burglar she feared and had warned June about, but June would be cowering in her room now, incapable of taking any action.

May put on her dressing gown and went stealthily along the passage to June’s room. The bed was empty. She looked out of the window, and the moonlight showed her a car parked on the gravel drive and led down to the lane. A yellower, stronger light streamed from the drawing room window. A shiver of fear went through her, but she knew she must be strong.

Before she reached the head of the stairs she heard a violent crash as of something heavy yet brittle hurled against a wall. There was a cry from below, footsteps running. May got to the stairs in time to see a slight figure rush across the hall and slam the front door behind him. The car started up.