She enjoyed trying on and making up her mind. She was helped by an assistant who was not yet unkind to middle-aged ladies. Matilda confided that the dress was to be for Anabel after she had worn it once.

‘I shall wear it tonight, then my daughter can have it.’

Matilda decided against white or black, havered a bit over a lime green which would suit Anabel but looked distressing with her white hair.

‘There is a deep rose which would suit you.’

‘Let me see it.’

The rose dress did suit. ‘I shall have it. Anabel will look marvellous in it.’

‘What about the length?’ Matilda was wearing her espadrilles. ‘It will be rather short with heels.’

‘I loathe heels, they hurt. I’m wearing these things to save pain. What shall I do?’ She was distressed. She wanted the dress. With heels it would look ridiculous, too short.

‘If you tried in the shoe department you might find a pair of dancing shoes. They are quite flat. I wear them often after a long day at work. My feet swell.’

‘Do they at your age?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shall I go at once and find out, then come back if successful and pay for the dress?’

‘Of course, Madam.’

‘Will you take a cheque?’

‘Of course.’

Successful with the dancing shoes, Matilda left Harrods carrying the dress and shoes, light in heart and lighter by one cheque for several hundred pounds. She walked through Montpelier Square to the park on her way to Anne in Mayfair.

Strolling along by the Serpentine she passed the spot where long ago she had biffed Felicity out onto the ice to her death without even the vaguest recollection of the event. She was filled with the euphoria of spending money she had not got. She enjoyed the crowds of young people walking, sitting, lying on the grass, in one case openly copulating. She liked the boats, ducks, prams, small children running. She enjoyed the shouting and screaming from the Lido, the flying of kites, orange, blue, red and green kites soaring and swooping in the late summer sky, reminding her for a moment of the blue sail she had seen on the sea during her abortive picnic. Next time she would surely be alone.

Anne lived in Mayfair; not for her Chelsea or Kensington. It was known that if she had consented to move to one of these areas her husband would have taken her on more holidays, given her a cottage in the country.

‘I can only live in Mayfair, nowhere else,’ had been her cry. ‘It’s so near the shops.’ It was said she could be seen shopping in street markets as far away as Lambeth, wearing black glasses and a headscarf – a rumour unconfirmed.

‘Lovely to see you, darling.’ Anne kissed Matilda. ‘What have you got on your feet, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Espadrilles.’

‘Darling, you can’t be seen like that, people will laugh.’

‘Suppose they do?’