‘I’m not afraid. I’m ashamed, and I’m hurt at the thought of hurting him. But I’m not a coward.’

‘I know that.’

They were silent again, watching each other’s faces, learning the nuances of expression with greedy fascination.

Helen felt that she couldn’t bear to leave him, even for a few hours, and surprise shook her. She had never felt that about Darcy. He had slipped in and out of her days, compared with this, just like a pleasant shadow.

Lucky. She was so lucky now.

‘I don’t want to go,’ she said.

‘I don’t want you to. But you must.’ Tom was very gentle, different from the man she had known. Cynical, aloof and sophisticated Tom was looking at her with pride, and love. ‘Will you be at this Ball?’

Christ Church Commem Ball, tomorrow night. The year’s last fling. Darcy had bought their double ticket with a flourish, from Oliver. Oliver had made fun of his new sociability and Darcy had answered, ‘I can do all these things, now I’ve got Helen.’

‘Yes,’ she answered painfully. ‘I am – I was – going with Darcy.’

‘I’ll be there too.’ He slid the car into gear. He was moving away. She barely caught the words, but Tom said, ‘I love you.’

Helen climbed down the mossed steps. Her feet and legs were still bare, and her wet skirt clung to her. Darcy had said just the same words, in almost the same place. She had tried to run away then, but it hadn’t been nearly far enough. Helen felt pulled in half by the battle between love and sympathy within her. As she came into the hall the telephone was ringing. With vague irritation she went to answer it. It would be for Pansy, because it always was, and she hadn’t seen or thought about Pansy for days.

‘Helen? Thank goodness. Are you very angry?’

It was Darcy.

‘What?’

‘With me, for not being there. It was a real crisis or I’d have come, you know that. I had to get Tim Oakshott out here to the sheep. It turned out not to be what we were afraid of, but I had to hang on until we were sure. Where have you been? I’ve been ringing and ringing. I was starting to worry.’

‘Oh. I just … went out.’

‘How did it go?’

‘What?’

‘Helen, your exams. The reason why I haven’t seen you for a week.’

Practical, prosaic Darcy, sounding just as he always did. A little bothered now because of his sheep, but unchanging. Helen looked at the grey box of the payphone, the dusty floor and the dim light filtering down from the gallery. She understood that he hadn’t missed her outside the Schools after all. He hadn’t even guessed at anything, yet. What could she say to him now, cold, on the telephone?

‘Helen, are you still there?’