The sudden, shocking clatter was his chair overturning as he stood up. Both his hands grasped Pansy’s and he lifted her from her seat to face him. Slowly, as if she was frozen, Helen’s fist went to her mouth. She bit into the clenched fingers and tried to force her eyes to close, but the scene refused to disappear. They were standing close together now, the gold head bent over the silvery one, their hands still locked together. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes explored each other’s faces, waiting.

Then Pansy smiled. It was unmistakable, both an invitation and a challenge to him. At once Oliver dropped her hands. His fingers went to her face, combing back the points of hair so that her cheeks were left exposed and vulnerable. Then, with her dazzling face cupped in his hands, his mouth moved to her. For a second they hung there, motionless, then Pansy reached to pull him closer. At once their kiss was open, hungry and self-devouring. Their two bodies were glued inseparably together.

Helen was hit by a wave of physical jealousy so naked and powerful that it almost choked her. It swept over her simultaneously with a surge of shocked self-disgust. I want him to do that to me, her body told her imperatively. I need him, and he was mine. At the same time she thought, why am I creeping and spying like this? I must get out of here. Stop humiliating myself. The realisation unlocked her frozen muscles. She wrenched her head away from the sight of Pansy stretched on tiptoe to reach Oliver’s face and stumbled back against the door to the catwalk. As she moved, her foot caught against something hollow and metallic and sent it rolling and bouncing away from her.

In the circle of light below, two heads jerked upwards.

‘Who’s there?’ Oliver’s voice was sharp, angry. In spite of the gloom, he saw her almost at once. ‘Helen? Oh, Lord. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Helen’s voice was unnaturally high and shaky. ‘I didn’t mean … I just came to see you.’ Trembling with shock and with tight bands of panic spanning her chest, Helen groped for the door, opened it and fled. She had just had time to see Pansy staring after her, her eyes and mouth three circles of surprise and concern.

She was outside in the dreary, early dusk before she realised that someone was running after her. There was time for her to have a wild, surging hope that it was Oliver, coming to explain and to make everything all right again, before a hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her round.

It was Tom.