She opened the gate, drove into the garage. She switched off the engine. Silence, then a loud honk and the slap of Gus’s feet as he came to meet her.

‘So you are all right my handsome, my gorgeous brute.’ Gus flapped his wings, excreted.

‘All alone?’ She stroked his neck. Gus honked louder, walked slightly ahead towards the back door. Matilda listened. Not a soul about, no Panda car, no surprises. She felt a sense of loss. Hugh had gone just as she had thought he would, as she had hoped he would.

My Christ, Matilda said to herself, what a fake I am. I am sadly disappointed. What shall I do with his shoes and his money? He might have waited, might have trusted me.

Crossly she felt for the key under the scraper and opened the door. The house was orderly and empty, as empty as when she had closed the door and set off for her picnic.

‘Damn, blast and to hell with that barbecue,’ she said to Gus, who craned his neck in at the door, blue eyes meeting hers. ‘That bloody girl Vanessa and her Bobby.’

‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’ Hugh, followed by Folly, walked in past Gus. ‘Hullo there.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. Matilda burst into tears.

‘What’s up?’ Hugh stood back while Folly leapt up, wagging her tail in ecstasy, scratching Matilda’s London clothes. ‘What are the tears for?’

‘I was expecting the police to be waiting for me. I was all ready.’

‘All keyed up?’

‘Yes.’

‘No police, sorry. Were you hoping?’

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘Sorry, I haven’t.’

‘I brought your money and a pair of shoes.’

‘Oh good, I need shoes. Well done.’

‘But I absolutely felt you’d be gone or that they would have caught you. I saw it all in my mind.’

‘So you’re disappointed.’

‘God, no, I’m –’ Matilda pretended to herself she did not know what she was feeling.

‘Don’t tell me you’re pleased.’

‘Very,’ Matilda whispered. ‘Very pleased.’

‘Ah,’ Hugh took her face in his hands and gently kissed her mouth. ‘Nice to see you back, sex maniac.’

Matilda giggled. ‘Some naughty child.’

‘Did you have a good time?’ Hugh was filling the kettle, putting out cups while Matilda, in her London clothes, watched him.

‘Not really. No. I had good meals, went round the shops, saw people –’

‘Friends?’

‘They used to be friends.’

‘Not any more?’

‘One suggested Tom was a bugger, another that she’d slept with him and the friend I was staying with had the nerve to hint that Tom was a spy.’

Hugh laughed. ‘Strong or weak? India or China?’ He held a tea-spoon in one hand, a caddy in the other.

‘Strong Indian.’

Hugh made the tea.

‘It’s been pretty boring here without you. If it hadn’t been for Mr Jones I might have left.’

‘Have you met him? Oh my!’