“London,” I said.

“You’re a lucky thing,” he said. “I can’t find any excuse at all to go to London.”

“It’s no treat at all this weather,” I said.

“London’s always a treat,” he said. “Have you seen the new revue by the way? Your chum’s in it.”

He leaned closer to me; I caught a whiff of eau-de-Cologne and whisky. “She does a strip-tease,” he said.

“If you mean Jean, she doesn’t. But all her wares are on display.”

He nodded in the direction of the station hotel. “Let’s have a little drinkie and you can tell me all about it.”

He had a pleading expression; it wasn’t a drink he wanted, it was company. There were no lines on that smooth face, no worry in those narrow eyes; but there was loneliness. The pink tie and the biscuit coloured linen suit seemed to make it even more evident: he had no home, he had lost his way.

“I’d love to, Larry,” I said. “But I’ve had the hell of a day. I just want to crawl into bed—”

“All the more reason for a reviver,” he said.

“I can’t,” I said. “I promised Susan.”

He wagged his finger. “You married men,” he said.

A taxi came into the station yard. “Come and have a drink at my house,” I said. “Susan’d love to see you.”

“No, love,” he said. “She won’t welcome company at this hour. I’ll be seeing you.”

As the taxi was going out of the station I looked back. He smiled and waved; I felt an overpowering pity. It wasn’t fair that he should have so little, it wasn’t fair that I should have so much; but then, I thought complacently, I didn’t make the world.

* * *

When I reached Harling Crescent there was a light on in the drawing-room. I paused at the front gate for a moment; that lit window seemed the epitome of home. It was a good exchange for a night with Jean – and the guilt the morning after and the thick head and the exhausted loins. Now I was back among the hills; they enclosed Warley and they enclosed me.

I opened the gate and went through into the back garden; once again I could look at Sindram Grange through Barbara’s eyes, once again I could see it as the magic castle on the top of the hill overlooking the river. Norah had nothing to do with it, I wouldn’t let her spoil it for me; or for Barbara.

She would be sleeping now under the dark blue ceiling with the silver stars, not knowing that I was standing out here in the moonlight. And when she saw me she would say she was glad to see me first and ask me what I’d brought back for her later; if indeed she asked me at all. She wasn’t a greedy child.