“I know you will,” she said. “If I let you.” She knelt down, taking the towel from me, and rubbed my feet vigorously. “You have corns,” she said. “And your little toes are crooked. There’s nothing right with you at all.”

I stroked her hair gently. It had a reddish tinge I had not noticed before, and the tight curls were springy, electric with life and almost contrary to my expectations, soft and fine-textured.

She let the towel fall and put her arms around my waist.

“You won’t be sad any more, will you, Councillor Lampton?”

“Joe,” I said. I stroked the nape of her neck; the hair, my fingers confirmed with pleasure, began high up and the skin was smooth, smoother even than her face which my fingers now started to explore.

“You won’t be sad any more, will you, Joe? It was funny seeing your face at that meeting. The other faces weren’t there. They weren’t bad or even particularly silly, but they just didn’t count. You were sweating, you were so miserable, you kept staring at me. It was as if at the top of your voice you were shouting Here I am, what are you going to do about it? You wanted me, you see. It’s a very rare thing.”

“No one could look at you and not want you,” I said. Her hand moved downwards. It was a square, capable looking hand with filbert-shaped nails that were cut very short. It was trembling now. “You won’t be sad again, Joe. You’ll never be sad again.”

When I returned at half past eleven, Susan was sleeping on the sofa in the drawing-room, a book lying face downwards on the coffee-table beside her. I went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. I set out the tea things on a tray and then, as an after­thought, sliced up a lemon and arranged some chocolate bis­cuits in a pattern on the plate. The problem had been solved, I thought contentedly. Even if I never made love to Norah again, I had got back my self-respect. I could now afford to remember that Susan liked lemon in her tea and that she liked biscuits to be arranged in a circle instead of piled anyhow upon the plate; I could now afford to behave as I had behaved before I discovered her un­faithfulness. It didn’t seem to matter very much now; all that mattered was that she had always liked tea to be made for her at bedtime.

I set the tray down on the coffee-table and very gently pulled open her eyelids.

“Joe. Where’ve you been?”

“A walk. I’ve made you some tea.”

She smiled. “It’s a long time since you made me any tea, Joety.”