The door had opened again and Anelida had come through with Richard. They were both very white. Again a single voice was heard. Miss Bellamy’s. ‘Do you suppose for one moment that I’m taken in?‘ And again Warrender shut the door.

‘Well, Nelly, darling,’ Octavius said. ‘I promised to remind you that we must leave early. Are you ready?’

‘Quite ready,’ Anelida said. She turned to Charles Templeton and offered him her hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘We’ll slip out under our own steam.’

‘I’m coming,’ Richard announced grimly.

‘So there’s nothing,’ Charles said, ‘to be done?’

‘I’m afraid we must go,’ Octavius said.

‘We’re running late as it is,’ Anelida agreed. Her voice, to her own astonishment, was steady. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, and to Richard: ‘No, don’t come.’

‘I am coming.’

Octavius put his hand on her shoulder and turned her towards the end of the room.

As he did so a cascade of notes sounded from a tubular gong. The roar of voices again died down, the musicians stood up and began to play that inevitable, that supremely silly air.

‘Happy birthday to you,

‘Happy birthday to you …’

The crowd in the far room surged discreetly through into the dining-room, completely blocking the exit. Richard muttered: ‘This way. Quick,’ and propelled them towards a door into the hall. Before they could reach it, it opened to admit a procession: the maids, Gracefield with magnums of champagne, Florence, Cooky, in a white hat and carrying an enormously ornate birthday cake, and Old Ninn. They walked to the central table and moved ceremoniously to their appointed places. The cake was set down. Led by Dr Harkness the assembly broke into applause.

‘Now,’ Richard said.

And at last they were out of the room and in the hall. Anelida was conscious for the first time of her own heartbeat. It thudded in her throat and ears. Her mouth was dry and she trembled.

Octavius, puzzled and disturbed, touched her arm. ‘Nelly, my love,’ he said, ‘shall we go?’

‘Yes,’ Anelida said, and turned to Richard. ‘Don’t come any farther. Goodbye.’

‘I’m coming with you. I’ve got to.’

‘Please not.’

He held her by the wrist. ‘I don’t insult you with apologies, Anelida, but I do beg you to be generous and let me talk to you.’

‘Not now. Please, Richard, not now.’

‘Now. You’re cold and you’re trembling. Anelida!’ He looked into her face and his own darkened. ‘Never again shall she speak to you like that. Do you hear me, Anelida? Never again.’ She drew away from him.