Laura started down the stairs with the coffee tray. The cups rattled annoyingly in their saucers. Nicholas caught up with her in the hall. ‘It would be such a gross betrayal if you said anything to—’

‘Don’t worry, Nicholas,’ she said, ‘I told you nothing has changed. Worse,’ she said, pushing open the kitchen door, ‘can’t be worse.’

‘That’s what you think,’ said Nicholas. ‘Oh darling, I do love you.’

‘And that’s a pity too. Go back to Emily, Nicholas, go!’

I shall put this out of my mind, she thought, washing the cups at the sink. I shall walk over the hills this afternoon and exhaust myself. I shall come back and have supper with Claud and go to bed with him and if May is in bed with us, it bloody well can’t be helped. At least I shall get those two old grey people out of my mind. ‘And tomorrow,’ she said to the cat, ‘we shall go back to London and stay there.’

Laura sat in the wine bar. She was wearing a snuff-coloured skirt and a bitter chocolate jersey. At her feet in its wicker basket her small cat glowered.

Since she had been in in the autumn the bar had changed hands. The new owners kept it dark, compensating for the lack of light with soft musak and a line of rich gâteaux served with Viennese coffee, hoping to attract a classier clientèle than the market people who, with their loud talk and noisy camaraderie, had been apt to treat the bar as a club to the exclusion of others.

The market people had moved up the street to a new establishment, Terrence informed Laura, which served sausages of all nationalities with a fine variety of pickles and mustards. ‘They can make as much noise as they like there. You won’t find people like Brian and Susie here any more. They’ve moved up the street, chips with everything.’

‘When did this happen?’ Laura sipped her wine.

‘Last week.’ Terrence idled by her table. ‘I was offered a job there, but I’ve better things to do.’

‘Oh?’

‘I am going into private service. Would pussy like a saucer of milk?’

‘No, thank you.’ Laura looked up. Above the long apron, spotlessly clean, Terrence sported a striped waistcoat. ‘I like the waistcoat.’

‘My uncle brought it from Germany; some count’s footman sold it to him. It’s got his crest on the buttons.’

‘Very nice. Shall you be happy in private service?’

‘I mean to be.’

‘Doesn’t it depend on the people?’

‘No problem, it’s just an old couple.’

Terrence had grown taller during the winter, more robust. His face had filled out so that his teeth were less daunting. The probability occurred to Laura that the old couple might be Nicholas and Emily, that Nicholas and Emily might need protection, or conversely Terrence. But she was on her way to London. Nicholas, Emily and Terrence must fend for themselves. She raised her paper and pretended to read.