“You’ve changed. All that decisiveness has gone. You never used to put things off.”

The edge of her slip was showing by a fraction of an inch; it looked very white against the black dress. She looked down at it and frowned slightly, but made no attempt to adjust it.

“I’m resting behind the lines,” I said. “This place is only tem­porary. We’re moving to Hampstead soon.”

“Are you going to take the job with Edgar Tiffield?”

“I don’t know.”

“Abe won’t stand in your way.”

“That’s generous of him.”

“He’s a more generous person than you think. I’m the only one who knows how generous he is. Or perhaps not the only one.”

It seemed specially important to hold her hand now; but in the moment of silence that followed it was difficult to decide who was reassuring who. I did not ask her questions and did not need to; but I knew that we had, in different ways, been to the same place.

“Not the one who’s in your mind,” she said quietly.

I put her hand against my cheek for a moment.

“It’s living with oneself that’s the trouble,” I said. “I can’t go back to her. Does she want me to?”

“You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”

“Has Barbara been asking for me?”

“You have a son, besides a daughter. It’s Harry who’s been asking for you.”

“He’s at school.”

“He’s run away from school. He won’t say why.”

“Send him back,” I said, impatiently.

She released my hand.

“You were very sensitive a moment ago,” she said. “You were suffering then, weren’t you?”

“Never mind that. Can’t anyone make him see reason? Can’t you? Can’t his mother? Can’t his beloved grandfather?”

“It seems not,” she said. “He wants his father.” She stood up. “I won’t waste any more of your time, Joe. Susan didn’t send me, by the way. He did.”

“I can’t go,” I said. “It’s just not possible.”

“He wants you to come and see him,” she said. “I’ve passed on the message.”

I helped her on with her coat.

“You’ll just have to be firm,” I said. “I can’t come to Warley now.”

“It’s entirely up to you,” she said, indifferently. “No one can make you see your son if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll phone for a taxi,” I said.

“It’s stopped raining. I’ll enjoy the walk.”

“Need you go?”

“I have an engagement. But it’s nice of you to want an old woman’s company. Goodbye, Joe.”

“Goodbye, Margaret,” I said, using her Christian name for the first and the last time in my life.

She smiled and unexpectedly kissed me on the cheek.