‘Oh yes,’ she said sadly, unthinkingly. ‘He’s real all right. Too real.’

Beatrice looked sharply at her and their eyes met with the beginning of sympathy. Gently Beatrice touched her sleeve, then they turned away from the window together.

‘Let me fill your glass,’ Beatrice said firmly, ‘and we’ll finish the bloody salads, then we can go and enjoy ourselves too.’

Helen was laying the long table in the dining room, when the footballers came bursting in. Their faces were pink from the cold air and they were laughing and pushing each other.

‘Oliver, you were a demon. You should be a soccer blue.’

‘Too proletarian. I’d have to wear an anorak and carry one of those bags with Adidas on the side.’

‘Wonderful smells. I’m starving.’

‘Mum, can I have wine?’

Helen put the last fork in its place. At last she had to look up. Her face felt hot and her chest tight with the strain.

Oliver was there, across the room.

When their eyes met, he grinned at her. Friendly, casual.

It was no good, Helen knew. Pansy was beside him, pink and silver like an exotic flower. Still Helen felt just as she had done on her first day with Oliver. She wanted to run across to him and bury her face in his warmth, feeling his arms come around her. She wanted to drag him away from everyone and keep him for herself.

How stupid, she thought bitterly. It was a mistake to have come here. Now she was trapped. She would have to sit and watch them together, listening to the grating conviviality around her. Waiting for the right moment to thank him for his generosity.

Suddenly Helen was possessed by the thought that it wasn’t generosity at all. He had bought her off, or handed out a ridiculous tip to satisfy his conscience. She remembered the suggestion of shame in his face when they had met on Folly Bridge.

How horrible. She would give the money back. Then she remembered that she couldn’t. It was all made over to her mother.

More people were crowding into the room now. Dully, Helen let herself be guided into a chair. Someone was filling her wineglass, dishes were being held out to her. Mechanically she spooned food that she didn’t want on to her plate. Beatrice was sitting at one end of the table with Oliver and Tom on either side of her. Stephen sat at the other, directing the passing out of plates.

‘Can I sit here?’ someone asked. Stephen looked up to see Pansy slipping into the empty seat beside him. Chloe stopped short on her way towards it and immediately found herself another place between two admiring young men.

‘Please do,’ Stephen said. ‘I’ve barely had a chance to talk to you yet.’

‘Just what I thought.’ Pansy’s chameleon eyes were bright with satisfaction.