‘Yes. Cost a thousand, I believe. Her husband’s made of money – diamonds – a new car too.’

‘None of that envy now. I must get up. I have to see to my hair. Just look at it.’

‘Her hair is blonde now.’

‘Thank you for warning me. What’s Anne’s?’

‘Same old red.’

‘Ah.’

‘You keep yours as it is.’

‘I shall, I shall. Can’t do anything else in the country even if I wanted to.’

Matilda put on her frock, several years old but dateless. She had bought it with Anabel’s help for Tom’s funeral. She had barely looked at the garment when Anabel had taken her to buy it, her mind had been full of the horror of meeting the plane carrying Tom’s coffin. The coffin had lain in the sitting-room for the time it had taken to arrange the cremation, buy the dress, wait for Louise, Mark and Claud to arrive. Louise had said:

‘Why here, for God’s sake, Mother? Why can’t it be in the crematorium chapel?’

‘I want it here. He would be lonely in the chapel, out of place. He had no beliefs.’ Then Claud had said, ‘Shut up,’ to Louise, and Mark, who agreed with her, had shut up too. Matilda zipped up the dress.

‘Do I look respectable?’ she asked Mrs Green.

‘Very chick.’ Mrs Green pronounced her ‘chic’ as in Chicago. She had heard Matilda say this when younger, happier.

‘It’s not new. I’m mean about clothes. I live in jeans in the country.’

‘You look fine.’ Mrs Green watched Matilda go out into the street. ‘Don’t let that Paul ruin your hair.’

‘I won’t.’

Matilda caught a bus, rocked and roared along the King’s Road, up Sloane Street, lurching round into Knightsbridge, grinding up to Piccadilly. She walked through side streets to Paul’s.

The silence as she went into the hairdresser’s was a relief after the racket in the street. Paul met her.

‘Hello, Paul.’

‘I’ve got a job ahead of me I see. Evie, shampoo Mrs Poliport then bring her to me. Just got to cut a slice off a Frog visitor then I’ll be with you.’

‘She’ll hear you, Paul.’

‘What if she does? These Frogs and Krauts only come once or twice. It doesn’t pay to bother, I haven’t the time.’

‘He doesn’t change, does he?’

Matilda submitted to a brisk shampoo, feeling relief when Evie finished and turbanned her head in a towel.

‘Now what have we got here?’ In disgust Paul flicked Matilda’s wet hair upwards. ‘Who cut it last? Been nibbled by a mouse?’

‘You cut it.’

‘Never.’

‘You did, when you came to do that demonstration at the Grand Hotel.’

‘Oh, I remember. It wasn’t my day. Robert and I had had a row.’

‘Be more careful this time. I hope you haven’t had a row lately.’