Dear Biddy [his first letter began]: I received your letter yesterday and the bill from the Bazaar. I shall take it up with them. Yes, Sarah did write to me, but you shouldn’t worry, she takes offence at anything. As a matter of fact I always did think that nothing would be better for Sarah than a bit of plain speaking. She thinks that she only has to fly off the handle and everyone will rush about to soothe her. It’s like people with hysterics, you have to slap their faces. Be firm, my dear, and you can always count on me to back you up. How is Don liking it at home? Not fed up with himself, I hope, and taking his mother out once in a while. You must not worry about the boy, Biddy, it seemed from your letter as if you were a little. He has to go. He is old enough to, and he is a lad with plenty of spirit. But our boy will be able to look after himself. And now, about me. I am hard at it. We are all very busy here, and it doesn’t look as if I’ll be able to manage any more of those nice weekends for a while. However, I’m looking for a place where you can stay in town, for a week or two, and I can come over and see a lot of you very often. You know, I still miss my Biddy, when I’m away. (You see, there’s no fool like an old fool.) Well, dear, look after yourself and don’t worry about the boy. Send me the other vests from the bottom right-hand drawer in the dressing table. Also the studs in the cellophane packet underneath.

Your loving husband,

Harry

He looked guiltily up at the armchair by the stove. Only a book and a pair of hands were visible. He bent over the letter again and painstakingly added two rows of crosses beneath his signature. He folded the letter, put it in an envelope and took a fresh sheet.