‘The best thing about this train,’ he said, ‘is that it’s nearly always empty. So you’re returning to the fold tomorrow, are you?’

Nicola had said Mr Period had asked her to do so and that was why she had left her typewriter behind.

‘But you’re not returning to Little Codling tomorrow,’ Andrew said, with the air of taking a plunge, ‘you’re returning tonight. At least, I hope so. Don’t say another word. I’ve got an invitation for you.’

He produced it and gave it to her with an anxious smile.

It was from his mother and it said: ‘Do come to my dotty party tonight. Andrew will bring you and we’ll put you up. He’ll explain all about it, but do come.’

Nicola stared at him in amazement.

‘My mum,’ he said, ‘has taken a fancy to you. So, as is no doubt abundantly obvious, have I. Now don’t go into a brouhaha and say you can’t. Just say: “Thank you, Andrew. How sweet of your mum, I’d love to.’”

‘But how can I?’

‘How?’ Andrew said grandly. ‘Anyhow. Why not?’

‘I tell you what,’ Nicola said. ‘You’ve nagged at your mum to ask me.’

‘I swear I haven’t. She nagged at me and I said I would if you would.’

‘There you are, you see.’

‘No, I don’t. And anyway, do stop carping and come. It’s definitely not one of my mamma’s more rococo parties. I wouldn’t dream of taking you to one of them, of course.’

Nicola, who remembered hearing rumours of some of Lady Bantling’s parties, felt relieved.

‘What I thought,’ Andrew continued, ‘I’ll drop you wherever you live and you can nip into your number one ceremonials and then I’ll pick up my dinner jacket and we’ll dine somewhere and then we’ll drive down to Baynesholme.’

‘What about the cocktail party you’re all dressed up for?’

‘Forget it, completely. Do come, Nicola. Will you?’

‘Thank you, Andrew. How sweet of your mum to ask me. I’d love to.’

‘Thank you, Nicola.’

For the rest of the journey Andrew talked to Nicola about himself. He said he wanted to paint more than anything else in life and that he’d been having lessons and was ‘meant to be not too bad’. He said that if he could take the Grantham Gallery over, there was a studio at the back where he could paint and manage the gallery at the same time. Then he described his unproductive and bad-tempered meeting that morning with his guardian and step-father, Mr Cartell.