She had been a little puzzled by this notable success, she remembered now, until Claud, lying spent, his head on her breast, had volunteered that the last difficulty, the last tiny hitch in the composition of his novel was overcome.

‘And what was it?’ She had stroked his throat with her finger. ‘This awful hitch?’

‘My girl’s name, of course,’ he had answered sharply.

‘Oh?’ she had asked sleepy, relaxed, content.

‘May will not do at all.’

‘No?’

‘Her name, of course, is Lydia.’

‘Of course. Excellent.’

‘She still has your legs.’

She had not noticed help was at hand.

Laura, braking carefully, glancing cautiously in her rear mirror, drew into a lay-by and switched off the engine.

A man driving past said worriedly to his passenger, ‘Do you think that woman is all right? Should we stop and help? Phone at the next phone booth? She is hooting with laughter.’

After wiping her eyes, Laura thought delightedly of Lydia, that thanks to her she was free. She was no longer even second fiddle. All the way up to London she let off little snuffles and spurts of affectionate healing laughter.

PART III
A Year Later

A YEAR LATER, IF she thought of Claud, it seemed right to Laura that an affair begun in a spirit of jest should end on the same note. Her life in London was so remote from the atmosphere of the Old Rectory and the tightly interlocking society of the country town that it had been relatively easy to let thoughts of Claud dwindle to manageable proportions. If she had been in danger of making herself ridiculous, she was the only person to be aware of it.

Her work kept her busy; she made several trips abroad, going twice to Brussels, once to Milan, and once to Lyons. She went on holiday as she had often before to stay with hospitable friends in Tuscany, where she dallied agreeably with a fellow guest who was at a loose end between divorces. She found his company relaxing and enjoyable. Reminded briefly of Claud as she straddled her new acquaintance, she thought how much easier it was to be agreeable to people who made no demands, were not intense.

Every two or three months she telephoned her mother (a duty call). She learned that life at the Old Rectory carried on much as usual. The acquisition of living-in help had not made much difference. For reasons of her own Emily was for some time coy about naming her minions, letting slip only by degrees that the live-in housekeeper was Terrence and his aide, Mavis, who lent a hand when she felt like it.

It transpired that Emily had hoped that Mavis would couple up with Terrence, but Nicholas thought Terrence was homosexual, which knocked that little plan on the head. Fortunately Bonzo had taken to both the young people.

Laura did not speak to Nicholas.