‘It’s on me,’ said the stocky man with the air of explaining a difficult point and making all plain; the implication being that no one in his right mind will refuse a cup of tea if it is free, even if he has already had enough.

So Charles was chained to the table by another scalding half­pint. In his old life he would have felt obliged to sip it slowly, and give the donor another fifteen minutes of his company out of politeness, as a way of paying for the tea. Now he saw no shame in draining it immediately and starting for the door. But it was too hot. And even his new code would not allow him to walk out and leave it untouched. He was trussed.

‘A’ll come straight to t’point,’ began the stocky man, silently accepting a Woodbine from the tin Charles held out. ‘A’ve seen you going up and down with your cart and things. And A’ve said to meself, “That feller’s working a one-man business. And very nicely he’s doing. But,” A’ve said to meself, “he’ll never get no farther.” ’

‘What if I don’t want to get any farther?’

The other smiled toothlessly at this pleasantry. It needed no answer. It was just a joke.

‘So do you know what else A said to meself?’

‘How could I? I wasn’t there at the time.’

‘A said,’ and he nodded his head deliberately in time to the words, ‘ “What that feller needs is a partner. A partner as could help to put it on a bigger futting.” ’

Charles sat back and stared at him sourly. He did not reply, for several reasons. For one thing, while his soul recoiled from the idea of admitting any other person inside the stockade of his independence, it was also true that the idea had begun, lately, to cross his mind more and more frequently. His clientèle was still rather small; new work was slow in presenting itself, and the coveted ‘contracts’ simply had not materialized. A partner who could tap fresh sources of work, and help him to carry it out, certainly had seemed the best solution.

‘A bigger futting,’ the toothless man repeated with grave self-satisfaction. Woodbine smoke poured out of his mouth and nose. Charles still did not speak.

‘Now look at it this way,’ said his adviser, leaning forward. ‘You’re yung. You’ve not ’ad a lot of ecksperience. When it come to running a business, you’re all right while it’s just a matter o’ taking the cart round and doing a winder here and a winder there. But you can’t stay like that for ever.’

For ever! But the whole idea of doing anything for ever, of thinking in terms of for ever, was something that belonged to his old life, not his new. This Manchester voice was speaking the wrong language.