‘Why did they get married,’ she asked, with some reason, ‘if all they want to do is get away from their wives?’

By this time, at the age of thirty-four, he ought to have had promotion at work. He’d been with the firm five years and expected to be made director. Neither he nor Lydia could understand why this directorship was so slow in coming.

‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘if it’s because I don’t hang around in the office drinking after work?’

‘Surely they understand a married man wants to be with his wife?’

‘God knows. Maybe I ought to have gone on that river-boat party, only wives weren’t invited, if you remember. I could tell you were unhappy at the idea of my going alone.’

In any case, he’d probably been quite wrong about the reason for his lack of promotion because, just as he was growing really worried about it, he got his directorship. An increase in salary, an office and a secretary of his own. He was a little concerned about other perquisites of the job, particularly about the possibility of foreign trips. But there was no need to mention these to Lydia yet. Instead he mentioned the secretary he must engage.

‘That’s marvellous, darling.’ They were dining out, tête-à-tête, to celebrate. Lydia hadn’t cared for his idea of a party. ‘I’ll have to give a fortnight’s notice, but you can wait a fortnight, can’t you? It’ll be lovely being together all day long.’

‘I don’t quite follow,’ he said, though he did.

‘Darling, you are slow tonight. Where could you find a better secretary than me?’

They had been married for four years. ‘You’re going to give up work and have a baby.’

She took his hand, smiling into his face. ‘That can wait. We don’t need children to bring us together. You’re my husband and my child and my friend all in one, and that’s enough for me.’

He had to tell her why it wouldn’t do for her to be his secretary. It was all true, that stuff about office politics and favouritism and the awkwardness of his position if his wife worked for him, but he made a poor show of explaining.

She said in her small, soft voice, ‘Please can we go? Could you ask them for the bill? I’d like to leave now.’

As soon as they were in the house she began to cry. He advanced afresh his explanation. She cried. He said she could ask other people. Everyone would tell her the same. A director of a small firm like his couldn’t have his wife working for him. She could phone his chairman if she didn’t belive him.

She didn’t raise her voice. She was never wild or hysterical. ‘You don’t want me,’ she said like a rejected child.

‘I do want you. I love you. But – can’t you see? – this is for work, this is different.’ He knew, before he said it, that he shouldn’t have gone on. ‘You don’t like my friends and I’ve given them up. I don’t have my clients here any more. I’m only away from you about six hours out of every day. Isn’t all that enough for you?’