The words crashed into a silence left by the sudden cessation of Blearney’s voice. The effect was like that of a man talking loudly in a Tube train, who barks out the end of his sentence when the train suddenly stops, and the whole carriage hears it. Thus isolated, it seemed crass, thrusting, and impertinent. He felt limp and nauseated. Blearney and Roderick turned and looked at him.

Nevertheless, she answered.

‘It depends on how often my uncle has to make business journeys abroad,’ she said. ‘If he’s going to be away for more than a few days, I usually go with him.’

‘Need someone to look after you, eh, Bernard?’ shouted Blearney, humorously.

Roderick looked at him without expression. ‘Yes,’ he said. There was a dead silence. Charles felt that he must certainly vomit within the next ninety seconds. The figure, ninety, occurred to him with odd precision.

Roderick got to his feet. ‘Well, we’d better go and eat,’ he said. ‘Are you staying here, Arthur?’ He did not ask whether Charles and Mr. Blearney had had their dinner.

‘Yes, but I probably shan’t be seeing you for the rest of the evening,’ replied Mr. Blearney. ‘I’ve got to go round to the flea pit. I shall only see the second half as it is. Tell you what!’ he cried excitedly, ‘come to my place in town next Sunday night. Got a few of the right sort coming in—you know most of them, Elsa, Stanley, Jimmy, you know the crowd. It’s a long time since we saw much of you in W.1.’

‘Well—’ Roderick began.

‘Oh, Gawd, make him come, Veronica,’ said Mr. Blearney, impatiently. ‘You know you always enjoy my parties, both of you. Look,’ he turned and faced the girl, ‘you’d like to come, my love, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

‘All right, we’ll come,’ said Mr. Roderick.

Charles got to his feet. He had to get away. Already the thought of her at a party with Elsa, Stanley, and Jimmy was grinding into him like a blunt drill. You always enjoy my parties! Both of you! What in hell’s name was the link between these two worlds? Who spoke of the marriage of Heaven and Hell? At what altar could this rite have taken place?

‘Here, don’t rush off without saying whether you’re coming too, whatsyaname, Charley,’ shouted Mr. Blearney. ‘You can get up to London in those motor-cars of yours, can’t you? 85a Sunflower Court, about eight o’clock, now don’t you start saying you can’t manage it.’

Charles stood for a moment utterly numbed with bewilderment. Then joy flooded into his being. Wonderful parties Mr. Blearney gave! The most delightful people, Elsa, Freddy, Jimmy, whatever their names were, charming, witty, Jessie, Binkie, Sammy, Socrates, Xenophon, Lao Tse, Stalin, to the hell with it all.

‘I can manage it,’ he said.