“That would be terrible,” I said. “I’d never recover from that.”

“Don’t you want the job?”

“I haven’t been offered it yet.”

“You have, you fool. Tomorrow he’ll ask you to see him at his office and he’ll hand you on to someone else and bits of paper will be shoved backwards and forwards and you’ll be in. That’s the way he operates.”

“I shan’t be able to see him tomorrow. I’m going to Capua.”

“You’re going to Capua?”

“That’s what we call Warley, isn’t it?”

“There’s something wrong,” she said. She straightened her back as if waiting for pronouncement of sentence. “I’d rather you told me, whatever it is. I promise not to make a scene, Joe.”

“There’s nothing to make a scene about,” I said. “Harry’s run away from school. He wants to see me. That’s all.”

“So you have to go now? It won’t even wait one day?”

“I should have gone two days ago,” I said. “It wouldn’t sur­prise me if he didn’t want to see me now. The poor little devil—” I put my hand to my eyes.

She knocked it down. “Don’t be ashamed,” she said. “I haven’t seen you cry before. It’s a treat for me, Joe. I’ve cried for you, Joe. I cried every night for you when I left Capua. But then I used to dream of the life we’d have when you joined me, and then I’d stop crying.”

She tapped the pink table. “This was part of it. I’ve always liked this place. I don’t know why. I could have lunched here be­fore, but I never have. I was saving it up for a special occasion.” She looked around her. “These pink lights, this carpeting, these pink quilted walls – it’s like being inside a box of expensive choc­olates, it’s almost too good for a business lunch. When Nick said we were lunching here, it was an omen. A good omen. Every­thing was working out—”

“It’ll still work out,” I said.

“It won’t, love. Will you get me another brandy?”

I beckoned the waiter. When I had ordered the drinks I put my hand over hers. “I’ll be back,” I said. “I thought you wanted me to go to Capua?”

“You don’t understand,” she said sadly. “I wanted you to go at the right time. Today’s the wrong time.”

“He’s only a little boy,” I said helplessly. “I’m his father. I have to go to him.”

“You’re Barbara’s father too,” she said. “I know what you feel about her. You talk in your sleep, Joe. You cry her name out in your sleep, but you never mention it when you’re awake.”

“Barbara isn’t—” I began, then stopped.