John surprised her by taking her to a concert at the Festival Hall before dinner.

‘You can rest your tootsies while I listen to music.’

‘I do like music too you know –’

‘You never used to.’ He drove well, nosing his car easily through the traffic.

‘Since Tom’s death I’ve listened a lot to the radio. One can’t help getting to know, recognize, love music.’

‘Very bad for your ear unless you have a really good radio.’

‘I haven’t. All the same I’ve learned some music and a lot about current affairs. Sometimes I listen all day, it helps me.’

‘Helps what?’ John was parking the car, hoping Matilda wouldn’t drop off during the concert.

‘Helps me keep alive while I must.’

‘Of course you must. You are not a suicidal character.’

That’s what he thinks, poor old sod. Matilda was glad the concert was to be Mozart, a great cheerer-upper. Beethoven, John’s favourite, was inclined to depress. She did not wish to drip tears onto Anabel’s frock. She annoyed John by sitting alert and upright through the concert without nodding her head or toe-tapping, making several knowledgeable and intuitive remarks about the conductor. When at the end she turned and gave him a huge smile of thanks he was astonished to find how touchingly like she was to the Matilda he had known before her marriage. Driving her to the restaurant he felt kind and indulgent. She wasn’t bad company; certainly tonight she looked presentable.

Eating dinner Matilda told John what Lalage had said or hinted about Anabel.

‘She’s like that, I shouldn’t pay any attention. She’s jealous of you, that’s all.’

‘Jealous of me?’

‘Yes. Poor Bertie is the dreariest of bores. No wonder her face falls and has to be lifted.’

‘But so rich.’

‘I grant you that. He’s disgustingly rich, does nothing interesting with it, just makes more money for Lalage to spend.’

‘No need for her to pick on Anabel. How could she be sleeping with this German when he’s in London and she’s in Frankfurt?’

‘There’s that modern invention the aeroplane.’

‘So it’s true, then?’

‘What if it was?’ John, having seen Anabel with the German quite frequently, was not prepared to deny.

‘I shouldn’t mind.’ Matilda looked around the restaurant. ‘She’s a beautiful girl. For aught I know she sleeps around a lot. She should be here, not me, it’s a good setting for her. I don’t belong anymore. The pavements are a disaster to my feet and I feel out of place. Anabel belongs, I don’t.’

‘Did Lalage suggest she had slept with Tom?’

‘No,’ said Matilda, too quickly, reinforcing John’s knowledge.

‘Have a brandy?’

‘No, thank you, it would keep me awake.’

‘Did you sleep well last night?’