Tom’s habitual cynical expression had melted, replaced by an enthusiasm that was almost boyish.

‘Yes.’ Helen didn’t want to talk about Pansy Warren. She switched the subject again. ‘And you? Will you make a wild success of being here? It’s what happens in all the books.’

‘Not wild. There’s hardly scope. But I’ll do well enough.’

Helen knew that he would, from the determined lines etched in his dark face. Tom Hart was bound to succeed in whatever he did. It was in his blood. You’re probably quite ruthless, Helen thought. You can be kind too, but you wouldn’t let that impede you where it matters. Probably you just feel genuinely sorry as you plunge the hatchet in. I know I wouldn’t like to cross you.

Tom was looking at her now, his gaze level. ‘Why am I treating you to this self-centred recital? It must be something to do with your having such a calm, attentive face.’

I don’t want to be just a calm, attentive face. A sudden spurt of resentment took possession of Helen. I want to be beautiful, like Pansy and Chloe, the kind of woman that people look at, not talk at. I want to be rich, and confident, and amusing. It’s not fair. And then at once she felt ashamed again. You’re so lucky in so many things, she reminded herself. Think of Mum, and Graham. And Dad.

Tom turned from signalling to the waitress and saw a brightness in Helen’s eyes that might have been the start of tears. His hand touched hers.

‘What is it? Did I say something?’

She shook her head fiercely. ‘No. I just … remembered something. Look – it’s late.’

‘I know. I must go too.’ When the bill came, Helen remembered that Oliver and Pansy, unthinking, had left without paying their share.

‘Can I go halves with you?’ she ventured.

‘No. Of course not.’ Without even looking, Tom dumped a fistful of notes on the plate and stood up.

It’s just different for them, Helen told herself. It’s wrong of you to feel resentful.

Tom left her with a brief goodbye at Carfax. Helen turned to watch him for a moment as he walked off down the long, golden curve of the High. His clothes were stylish, almost flamboyant, and with his alert face and purposeful walk, he stood out in high relief from the anonymous blue denim crowds that drifted around him.