“It was hardly a miniskirt,” Katrina said, trying to keep her voice reasonable. “And anyway, I don’t think the merest glimpse of my knees will have driven anyone into a wild passion.” She spoke lightly, thinking that now the mood would change and they could laugh about it together.

But John snapped, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At the venom of his voice, Katrina felt the tears starting up in her eyes. “Why are you being like this?” she said. He was behaving like someone else entirely. Katrina wondered how she had driven him to it, and how she could make him go back to how he was before.

Her tears, it seemed, made a difference. Finally, John turned towards her. “Oh, love,” he said. “There’s no need to get upset. I just don’t want you making yourself look silly. I care so much about you. Perhaps it would be easier if I cared less.”

“I didn’t look silly,” Katrina said, crying properly now. “I didn’t.”

“I know you believe that,” he said. “But you have to understand, men see things very differently from women. All those men you work with, they will have been looking at you and thinking you’re a slut, dressed like that and flirting with them in the pub.”

“No they won’t,” Katrina said. She rubbed her hands across her face. She felt unmoored. “They’re not like that.”

“Darling, they are. All men are. Almost all, anyway. Look, stop crying.” He took a handkerchief from his bedside drawer and gently reached out to dry her tears. “You’ve been a wee bit naïve, that’s all. This is just a misunderstanding.”

And afterwards that was how Katrina tried to think of it, if she allowed herself to think of it at all. She tried to exercise better judgment, avoided wearing short skirts or anything too tight, and made such an effort not to behave in any way that might be construed as flirtatious with her male colleagues that Ronald, the one she liked best, asked one of the secretaries to find out if he’d done something to upset her. Katrina was mortified, and realized she’d got the balance wrong again. She was friendlier from then on, without, she hoped, being too friendly. At least Ronald never asked her to make him tea again.

Katrina and John married the week after Katrina’s twenty-third birthday. When Katrina told Jill about the engagement on the telephone, Jill didn’t sound happy about it. She said, “Are you sure? You’re very young.”

“I’m sure,” Katrina said.

“But have you really thought it through?”

“Aye, of course.”