That ruled out Jean. It would even rule out going to parties in London without my wife. I wondered whether to tell Susan about the party. Not everything about the party naturally; but it would be wisest to get my story in first. Warley and London weren’t exactly incommunicado. I remembered Jeff.

I hadn’t been all that drunk; he’d been jealous of me. He’d trans­ferred his attentions to Judy because Judy would be his bread and butter; but it had been Jean he’d really wanted. And Jeff’s mother lived in Warley and Jeff visited Warley from time to time and Jeff would in any case be able to use a telephone. It was too late to worry about it now; but I’d have to remember these things in future; I was a citizen of the green and buff country of watch your step keep your nose clean you can’t be too careful. I had to remember who I was, I couldn’t afford the smallest indiscretion.

“You needn’t tell me that,” I said. “Warley’s a small place.”

“Too bloody small sometimes.” He looked at his watch. “Where the hell’s George?”

I gestured towards the door. “Speak of the devil,” I said.

Brown remained sitting; I rose and shook George’s hand. In that room and in that company it was almost like seeing a friend; he was ten years older than me, but he was of my generation. I had hated him once, he had been the barrier between me and Alice. Now I saw only a middle-aged man of middle height, spruce and hairline moustached, with rather cold eyes. Cold, or withdrawn?

“It’s nice to see you, George,” I said. “What are you drinking?”

He sat down. “Brandy, Joe, please.” He looked at Brown. “What’s up with you?”

“You’re late.”

“I’ve just been seeing my young lady.” He spoke the last two words with a mock affectation.

I ordered the drinks. There were advantages in being a citizen in the green and buff country; ten years ago I would not have greeted him so easily nor could I have afforded to lubricate the moment with brandy.

“You’re looking very well, George,” I said. “How’s business?”

“Never better,” he said. “Don’t look so shocked, Joe. No point in telling lies about it.”

“It’s nice to hear one business man who doesn’t bellyache,” my father-in-law said.

“I never have done, Abe.” He inspected his fingernails. They were gleaming from a recent manicure; he flicked off a smut from the little finger of his left hand. The impression wasn’t one of effeminacy, but as if he were keeping a weapon in good order.

“No reason to now,” my father-in-law said. “We’ve got rid of those Labour bastards.”

“I did just as well under Labour,” George said. “In fact, better.”

“You’re a card, George.”