‘Of course,’ Pansy said very softly. Then she was gone, and Chloe shivered as she saw that Stephen was still watching her across the room.

‘What’s the matter?’ she heard him say. At once he was the Stephen she knew again, faintly smiling and with one eyebrow raised. Love for him hammered in her head like an affliction and a panicky desperation made her mumble, ‘Stephen. Let’s not stay here. Let’s go back to your rooms.’

His hand touched her sleeve.

‘Chloe, we don’t own each other, you know. We can’t. Don’t we have enough together to make you happy?’

‘No. I love you. I need you.’

She could have bitten out her tongue, but it was too late. Stephen’s face changed. He looked sad, but not before Chloe had glimpsed the irritation too.

‘I thought we understood each other,’ he said, very gently. Longingly she waited for him to say something else, something to convince her of her own importance to him, but there was nothing. At last he made a tiny gesture. ‘I think we’re making ourselves a little conspicuous here. Shall we find somewhere to sit down?’ He glanced around the room and Chloe knew that he was looking to see where Pansy had gone. Her own gaze travelled across the blur of people. Then, like a film camera focusing to pull one face out of a crowd, she saw Oliver. He was staring at Stephen as if he wanted to hit him. For some reason the memory of the uncomfortable lunch at Stephen’s home came back to her.

It was Beatrice she had been jealous of then, Chloe recalled. Why? she asked herself bitterly. Why can’t it be simple, this time? I’m tired. The others hadn’t mattered, not like this. Even Leo. But Stephen …

He was already moving away from her, threading his way across the room.

‘Find us somewhere,’ she managed to call after him, not wanting to admit the feeling that he was abandoning her. ‘I just want to talk to Oliver.’

Chloe sat down on a fat velvet floor cushion beside Oliver. He nodded her a brief greeting and then went on staring over to where Pansy was beaming up at Stephen. Her hand was resting lightly on his arm.

Chloe felt little cold fingers of anxiety pressing at her. There was something in Stephen’s expression, fascination mingled with a kind of awe, that Chloe had never seen before. He’s practically old enough to be her father, she thought. Perhaps that’s what she wants. A Masefield-figure that she can actually go to bed with, as well. Hurriedly she put the thought out of her head. The thought of Stephen touching, kissing Pansy’s glowing skin made Chloe feel physically sick.

Just let her try, she thought. I won’t give him up to her. Never.