“Are you quite sure you’ve enough cushions, by the way? Or would you like me to bring you a rug?”

I sat up. “For God’s sake, won’t you even let me lie down on the sofa for a minute? Can’t you see that I’m tired?”

“Not just tired,” she said. “Worse than tired. You’re heartsick, aren’t you, Joe? Your life hasn’t any meaning any more, has it, Joe?”

I stood up. “What the hell are you driving at?”

“You’re not very quick on the uptake tonight, are you? You’d better lie down again. Why don’t you?”

She lit a cigarette from the stub of the previous one.

“Lie down, Joe; you look so charming, it’s just the finishing touch to the drawing-room . . .”

“I’m going,” I said. “I don’t know what’s making you so bitchy, and I don’t care. But I’m not putting up with it.”

“I thought you were tired. But you’re not too tired to go to the damned Council Meeting, are you? You couldn’t cancel it to be with your wife, could you?”

I sat down. “Please, Susan, stop it. I don’t want to quarrel with you.” My voice rose despite itself. “Jesus Christ, can’t you see, you stupid cow, I don’t want to quarrel with you.”

“You’ll wake the child,” she said. “Not that you’re worried about your children.”

The mirthless smile appeared again. “She’s going to give you some more children, isn’t she?”

“She?”

“Come off it. Norah.” She opened her handbag and handed me a letter.

“You don’t take much care of your property,” she said.

I stuffed the letter into my pocket, feeling for a moment oddly shamefaced.

“I can’t help what she says,” I muttered.

“I see.” She poured herself a glass of brandy. “You mean she’s a head case? You haven’t slept with her? You haven’t promised to marry her?”

“I haven’t done any worse than you’ve done. Did you expect me not to get my own back? And how the hell did you get hold of the letter, anyway?”

“Your secretary posted it on when you were away in Man­chester. Don’t blame the poor girl. It was marked Personal and Urgent.”

“You shouldn’t have opened it,” I said. “It was a pretty filthy thing to do, wasn’t it?”

She looked at me incredulously.

“My God, that I should live to hear you say it. Aren’t we becoming gentlemanly? Go on, Joe. Say it wasn’t cricket.”

“I leave that kind of remark to your ex-lover,” I said. “If he is your ex-lover.”

She finished her brandy.

“It’s all over. Whether you believe me or not. He’s in hospital, in any case.”

“Good. I hope it’s cancer.”