He opened the report. “All normal clerical work – that nat­urally includes stock control – to be put on to keyboard ma­chines. That’s what you say here. You recommend buying six of the damned things – do you know how much cost? Nearly two thousand pounds. There’s the delivery difficulty too. Have you thought of that?”

“Of course I have,” I said. “If you’ll look at Page Ten—”

“I’ve read it. It does seem to cover the point at first sight. Mark you, I only say seems to cover it. For one thing you’ve under­estimated the number of clerks we’ll need until we get the machines.”

“And most emphatically over-estimated the salary that they’ll be paid,” Middridge said.

He went over to the sofa and sat down. Ordinarily he sat down stiffly and bolt upright when he sat down at all; now he was positively lolling back, his eyes on the cocktail cabinet as if for once he was prepared to make an exception to his own rules.

“Clerical staff aren’t easy to get in this part of the world,” I said. “And we aren’t exactly offering them security, are we?”

“Security!” Brown looked as if he were going to spit. “We’re not an extension of the bloody welfare state! How many key­board machines would you say we needed, Mr. Middridge?”

“Four at the very most. At the outside, I assure you.”

“That’s different from your estimate, isn’t it, Joe?”

“I still think that six is the minimum,” I said.

“I’m glad you’re obstinate,” Brown said, “though you are wrong.” He handed me the sheet of calculations. “We’ve got some more, too.”

I looked at the spinsterishly neat figures. For a second they meant nothing; it was as if I had lost the power to count. Then I realized that I was defeated. I had not taken enough trouble over the report, I had taken too many short cuts.

I knew that I was right, but I could not prove it here and now; and that was all that mattered. When I should have been thinking of the report, I had been thinking about Susan; and now when I should be arguing about the report, defending its right­ness in essentials, I was thinking about Norah. Suddenly noth­ing mattered except the need to be with her; after ten years I had reached the point I swore I’d never arrive at again, the state of hopeless dependence on another human being. I put the sheet of paper down.

“I could still argue about it,” I said. “But I won’t.”

“You argue, lad. Go on. I told you, I like to see a man stick up for what he believes. I don’t mind a chap being a bit pig-headed; you should know me after ten years. Shouldn’t he, Mr. Middridge?”