Chloe glanced at Oliver. His anger had faded and he looked sullen now. ‘What’s up?’ she asked lightly.

Oliver pointed. ‘Look. Look at Spurring, grabbing at Pansy as if she’s some kind of merchandise. Smirking, and no doubt spouting some kind of pretentious literary crap. Jumped-up little toad.’

Chloe couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh, I think the grabbing’s the other way round. Pansy knows what she’s doing.’

Suddenly, painfully, she felt a wave of tenderness and love for Stephen. He looked older beside Pansy’s brightness, tired and a little bewildered. The mixture of awe and uncertainty in his face as he looked at Pansy touched Chloe, and her anxiety evaporated. He’s human, she told herself. How could he resist? She’s so lovely to look at, and how could he know yet that she’s vain and superficial as well? He needs me, she thought protectively. For all his cleverness, he can’t see very straight.

Beside her, Oliver flung himself back against the cushions.

‘Stupid bitch, then. Oh Christ, what does it matter anyway?’ He poured red supermarket wine from a litre bottle into his glass and made a face as he drank it. ‘Talk to me instead, Chloe. Tell me, d’you ever get the feeling that you’re in one of those horror-movie rooms where the walls and floor and ceiling creep inwards to crush whoever’s inside? D’you ever feel that’s what life is?’

‘No,’ Chloe said, half-joking. ‘More like a wheel in a hamster’s cage.’ But Oliver wasn’t listening. He had seen Gerry peering round the door and then sliding into the room.

‘For God’s sake, that’s all I need.’ Gerry came over to them, smiling hopefully at Oliver.

‘Hello, dear boy. You’ve been neglecting us lately. Not surprising though, with so much better scenery to look at.’

His wink acknowledged Chloe, and she thought again as she always did how handsome he must once have been and how dissipated he looked now. His blond hair had faded to pepper-and-salt and there were stubbly patches on his cheeks that the razor had missed. He groped for the litre bottle and sloshed the thin red wine into a glass. Oliver was eyeing him with distaste.

‘You drink too much, Gerry,’ he told him.

‘Just like you, dear boy.’ Gerry’s voice was good-humoured but there was an anxious, uncertain look in his face that told Chloe he was frightened of Oliver as well as admiring of him.

Oliver frowned. ‘At least I do it with some sort of style.’ He looked restlessly around the room. ‘God, how boring everything is. Why is everyone always the same? Even Pansy.’