‘What else have you found?’ Laura searched Margaret’s face for traces of Claud. How would Claud use his mother in his writing? Did he know his mother? ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what else?’ She was surprised to find herself so interested.

‘I have not stopped loving Claud or his father—but Claud—’

‘You don’t lose your maternal instinct just because you move house.’

‘But you find a new perspective, see things differently!’ Margaret wondered whether a childless person such as Laura could have maternal feelings.

‘How so?’

‘I am taking a course of psychology; when I finish I may be able to explain it better. To start with I have befriended someone who needs it. I feel maternal about him.’

‘A young man?’ This was interesting. ‘A replacement?’

Margaret leaned closer to Laura. ‘An old man,’ she said, ‘so lonely he flashed.’

‘Like a glow worm?’ Laura puzzled.

‘No. His thing. To get attention. The only attention he got was passing the plate in church and that was negative. He is the most wonderful gardener. It wasn’t sexual, it never is. He’s like a child.’

‘Second childhood? Very old?’ Laura frowned.

‘He can still dig an excellent trench.’ Margaret spoke quite seriously.

Laura crowed with laughter. Margaret’s substitute for Claud seemed totally out of character. ‘What an amazing thing to do,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t seem like you at all.’

‘Why not? I was not much use to Claud.’ Margaret spoke stiffly. ‘Like any normal person I need something to keep me ticking. This poor old man will be the minimal replacement I can manage.’ She drained her glass.

And I have no replacement. Laura sucked in her breath. Perhaps my empty heart will silt up, she thought, wishing now to get away. She signalled to Terrence to bring the bill, said that she must be off or she would get into a jam on the motorway. The brief moment of intimacy was over. She was anxious to leave.

They left the wine bar together. Laura waved at Helen, who shouted after her, ‘Don’t forget my hand,’ so that other customers, looking puzzled, examined their own hands. Helen was gobbling a second slice of gâteau.

‘I don’t suppose she has a very happy life, in spite of Christopher Peel’s money. All those statues must mean something. Perhaps they represent the beautiful people she had hoped her two boring children would be, and are not? My evening course on psychology may explain that too. It’s amazing what one learns.’ Margaret had now changed, or half-changed, or was prepared to change her opinion of Laura, would have liked to prolong the meeting, have another glass of wine, get a little drunker.

‘Well,’ said Laura, ‘maybe.’ She did not wish to discuss psychology. ‘Thank you for meeting me. And for taking charge of the money.’