I remembered Maria, whom I had had for a packet of cigarettes in Berlin. Those had been Woodbines; as if it mattered now. She had been like Gerda, though she was as dark as Gerda was fair and as thin as Gerda was plump. She had been submissive – you are the man aren’t you – she had cared only about making the man happy. Susan’s purpose all day seemed to have been the exact opposite; I’d never known her to be so bloody-minded. And she got a great deal more from me than twenty Woodbines; though the house was hers Brown didn’t give her any allowance. We lived up to every penny of my income and sometimes hundreds of pounds beyond. There had been a bill today from Maudsley’s, Ledders­ford’s most expensive department store, which I’d put in my pocket unopened because I didn’t dare to look at it. It was I who should have been bloody-minded today not Susan.

“You look serious,” Gerda said.

“I was thinking that Mrs. Lampton won’t be pleased with the news.”

“It’s only a little house,” she said. “And Harry is away at school mostly.”

I seemed to detect contempt in her voice.

“You’re a great help though, Gerda. Mrs. Lampton will be very much housebound now.”

Gerda shrugged. “All married women are housebound. That’s why I don’t get married for a long time.” She giggled.

The kitchen was beginning to seem cosier; it was almost as if there were an open fire and hams hanging on the oak beams, as if it were a different kind of kitchen and a different kind of home.

“I’d better go and tell her,” I said.

Gerda frowned. “Mr. Lampton, you are like my father.”

“You told me that before,” I said.

“Wait. It isn’t that I want to tell you—” She was blushing.

“You needn’t be frightened,” I said.

“You are a good man. You are very kind and very warm. You are a very good father and very generous. And you work very hard and now you’re a councillor because you want to give ser­vice, isn’t it? And your children are beautiful. I like you, Mr. Lamp­ton. Well—” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know how to put it,” she whispered.

“You seem to be expressing yourself very well,” I said.

“Thank you. What I must say is that, because I like you—” She was silent again.

“What is it, Gerda?”

She looked down at her skirt and pulled it over her knees. “Just that I am sorry I have gone before I said I should. And I have been happy here until – until my father was ill. You understand?”