“She’s determined. They’re doing a series – a day in the life of – you know the sort of thing.” He helped me off with my coat, an act of unusual consideration for him. “She’s been trying to catch me all week. I wasn’t interested, why the hell should I be? But I got tired of putting her off.”

I’ll send you the proofs, she’d told him. She was going to write an article about my father-in-law. She’d think about him, try to remember his appearance, the things he’d said, the things he did. I wouldn’t be mentioned; but that wasn’t to say that she wouldn’t remember me. And I would see her name in print; that would be something I could hang on to.

“Publicity never does any harm,” I said. “Did you show her round the works?”

“Ralph did.”

“Ralph?”

“Ralph Hethersett.”

“I didn’t know he was on our staff.”

“He’s trying to do business with us. Or his father is.”

“I don’t see why he should show her round the works.”

“He had an hour to kill. All steelworks are the same, you know. Matter of fact, it was bloody impossible to stop him.” He chuckled. “He’d better watch his step. You know what widows are.”

“Widows?” I said.

“Her husband died last year. Swimming accident. Don’t you remember it?”

I’d been looking around the entrance hall like a prisoner on his first day in gaol; suddenly the green and buff walls, the pro­liferation of notices, and the smell of pine disinfectant lost all power over me. I was standing on a rather dirty terrazo floor in the entrance hall of the Warley Conservative Club and that was all.

“You’re giving a boy man’s work,” I said. “I’ll show the young widows round in future.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” he said.

“I’ll just show her steel processes, of course,” I kept my tone light; it was best to take no chances. This was the way men talked about young widows; and we went on talking about her with the same heavy waggishness as we walked up the steps towards the bar.

Brown and I sat down at a corner table. I slumped down into my chair; though the colour scheme of the bar was the same de­pressing green and buff as the entrance hall, the chairs were new and comfortable. I took a gulp of whisky and felt its warmth smooth away the rough edges.

“I needed that,” I said.

“Have another.” Without looking behind him, he raised his hand; the waiter appeared from the other side of the room. Brown was the kind of person whom waiters notice; so too, I thought with a twinge of envy, was Ralph Hethersett.

“I’ll have a pint of bitter,” I said.