“That’s more like it. That’s more like the real you. It might well be cancer from what Sybil says. But he’ll still be a gentle­man. And that’s the real reason for your hating him.”

“Spare me the penetrating character analysis, for God’s sake. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t propose to do anything. Because I know that you’re not going to marry her. You haven’t got the guts, Joe. You’re not going to throw up a good job and all this” – she made a sweeping gesture – “to live with Norah Hauxley. You would if you loved her. You’ve never loved anyone but yourself. I used to think that you loved Alice Aisgill. I even used to be jealous of her. But I’m not now, I’m sorry for her . . .”

“I’m surprised that you want to keep on living with me.”

“I haven’t said I did. But perhaps I don’t want to divorce you. Or if I do, I’m going to choose the time. Perhaps I’ve still got my pride, too. Perhaps I don’t like my husband being taken from me by that big fat cow Norah Hauxley. It’s funny how history repeats itself, isn’t it? You always go for big fat cows, you always go for the mother type, don’t you?”

I saw her eyes moisten. I went over to her. She moved away from me.

“I’m all right,” she said. “You go to your meeting. Don’t forget to call at the club to get your final instructions from Father. By the way, have you told him yet about Tiffield offering you a job?”

I stared at her. I had known her angry, I had known her hys­terical, I had known her, after being hurt, to fling at me the wild­est of accusations in order to hurt me back; but I had not known her before to sustain for so long this tone of calm, icily amused superiority. For the first time – acknowledging it I felt a kind of respect for her – she was reminding me that I’d married a rich man’s daughter.

“No,” I said. “I don’t know whether I’m going to take it.”

“You’re not,” she said. “Just as you’re not going to marry Norah Hauxley. But I didn’t expect that you’d tell Father about it.”

“Why should I? He doesn’t tell me everything.”

“He certainly doesn’t. He kept you in the dark about the merger, didn’t he?”

I put my glass down with a bang, slopping whisky over the table. “Shut up.”

“It’s still going through even if you don’t like it.” She lay down on the sofa. “I think I’ll have a lazy evening,” she said. She looked at me coldly. “What are you waiting for?”