“Don’t,” Hilda said. “It’s perfect. An absolute jewel of a report. You’ve summed up the whole situation and you’ve precisely told A. Z. Brown and Co. what to do. Now you can only wait.”

“I’ve been waiting for a fortnight now,” I said. “He hasn’t asked for me this morning, has he?”

“I’d have told you if he had.”

“Get me him.”

“Mr. Brown?”

“Who else?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Godammit, Hilda, don’t argue the toss. I’ve put too much work into that report to let him forget about it.”

She put out her tongue at me. “He won’t be in his office just now,” she said.

“Never mind. Track him down for me, wherever he is.”

She stuck out her tongue at me again, but within one and a half minutes I was speaking to Brown.

“What the devil do you want?”

“It’s about the report—”

“What report?”

“My report about the computer situation.”

He snorted. “Did you disturb me for that?”

“It’s important.”

“The business I’m doing now’s important. I’ll attend to your report when I find time.”

“You’ve had it a fortnight,” I said. “The situation’s not growing any better, either.”

“That’s not for you to say, young man. And the computer’s Mr. Middridge’s responsibility, not yours. Got that clear?”

“You don’t understand—” I said despairingly; but he had hung up on me. I slammed the phone down.

“I might just as well tear the bloody report up,” I said.

“I did warn you.” She put her hand on my forehead. It was a cool hand and smelled pleasantly of scented soap.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Think of your holidays. Are you taking the children?”

“Both of them,” I said.

The hand stroked my forehead gently; I closed my eyes. I had no designs on her; but the smallness of the hand, its softness and coolness and its smell of jasmine, momentarily abolished my grow­ing sense of futility.

“That’ll be nice,” she said. “You’ll enjoy being with Harry.”

I opened my eyes. She took her hand away and went back to her desk.

“I don’t see much of him except in the holidays,” I said.

With her back towards me she said: “He’s a lovely little boy.”

“He’ll pass,” I said absently. My mind was not on Harry but on Tiffield; suddenly I remembered that Brown didn’t have the power to humiliate me any longer. Whether or not I could accept the offer, it had made me realize my own value; I could never be frightened of Brown again. I smiled at Hilda; perhaps, I thought, if ever I do accept the offer, I can persuade her to come with me . . .

“He’s very sensitive,” she said. “My little brother’s like that. He needs careful handling.”

“Harry? You mean Harry?”