Oliver stepped back. His face went white and deep vertical lines showed in his cheeks. Then, abruptly, he turned and walked away down the stairs.

Helen looked away, suddenly cold. The tension in the air was ugly, vibrating threateningly among them.

It was Pansy who broke the silence. She laughed a little, then said, ‘Well. Sorry everyone. It’s not like this at Follies every night, Stephen.’

With evident relief, Stephen said a brief goodnight and went. Pansy leaned over the carved gallery rail and called softly after him, ‘Can I ring you in College about my tutorial?’

‘Of course.’ His voice carried up through the vaulted space, then the door thudded shut behind him. Chloe hadn’t moved a muscle. Her fists were clenched, creasing the soft suede of her tunic.

At last, Helen met Tom’s eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment. She searched her mind for the right thing to say, aware that Pansy and Chloe were watching too. But the phrases that tumbled in her head all sounded too flippant, or too revealing, and she was silent.

At last Tom said, ‘As Oliver doesn’t appear to need an ambulance service after all, I think I’ll go home. Remember your exercises, Pansy.’

The ghost of a smile which he gave them included Helen too. She watched his dark head retreating with a sadness that she couldn’t have explained.

The three women stood facing each other in the splash of light from Chloe’s doorway. Very slowly, Chloe unclenched her fists.

‘Must you acquire him, too, Pansy?’ she asked, tonelessly. Pansy’s eyebrows went up, almost into the tousled fringe of hair.

‘What?’ She couldn’t have looked more innocent. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, I think you know what I mean.’ Chloe’s voice was dangerously low. ‘I mean Stephen. I mean your teeny little flirtatious gambits, and your worming your way into his rooms for some totally irrelevant coaching. You took Oliver from Helen. Isn’t that enough? Stephen belongs to me. Don’t you understand?’ With the last words the control ebbed out of her voice. She was too close to tears, and she bit her lip savagely to hide the humiliation.

Helen watched numbly. She put out her hand to Chloe, then drew it back. There was nothing she could do.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Pansy said, suddenly steely. The flowery innocence melted away and her little pointed face turned pitiless.

Masefield Warren’s daughter, Helen thought.

‘To start with, I didn’t take Oliver from anyone. He came, tongue hanging out. And if you think Stephen belongs to you, you are a fool. He’s poor old Beatrice’s, if he’s anyone’s right now. And no, if you want to know, Oliver isn’t enough. I don’t need a doped-up boy. Stephen is different.’