Laura did not answer but took her hand away from Claud and folded it with the other in her lap.

‘And you feel guilty and think you have betrayed him, I suppose.’

‘Guilt is a fact of life,’ she said.

‘And betrayal?’

‘That, too. Actually,’ said Laura conversationally, ‘what triggered whatever my feelings may have been was my inability to share.’

‘With Mavis?’ Martin made a wild guess.

‘With Lydia,’ said Laura and began to laugh.

‘Who is Lydia?’ Martin saw that laughter became her, made her eyes glitter.

‘Lydia is his girl, the heroine of his novel. She has Mavis’ hair and did have Susie who sells organic vegetables in the market’s skin. Actually he dropped Susie, he was never too keen on her recipe for beauty. Lydia is a composite girl.’

‘Does she have anything of you?’ Martin watched her.

‘Some mention, I believe, of my legs.’

‘Bravo! Her character, though, what of that?’

‘She has the character to suit her creator.’

‘Creator?’ Martin’s eyebrows queried the use of the word or Laura’s intonation.

‘A writer’s use of Godwottery, if I can use that word in an explanatory sense. He is in love with her, she is his perfect woman, a woman who will never hurt him. But a critic has attacked her, hence this.’ Laura gestured towards Claud. ‘When Lydia is threatened, he reacts like a rabbit eating its young to conceal them from the enemy. Claud kills himself.’

‘Not very successfully,’ said Martin. ‘Bit on the bogus side, something of a bosh shot I’d say.’

‘Well, no,’ Laura murmured. She leaned over Claud, peering into his face: ‘Can’t get it right first go, can he? It’s like the first draft of his book,’ she whispered. ‘You stupid, stupid fool.’

Laura sat beside the bed keeping watch. Martin settled in the chair by the desk, his back to the window. She had shaded the light from Claud’s face. Neither of them spoke.

Laura listened to Claud’s breathing, deep and regular now with only the occasional snore; from time to time she felt his pulse. Time passed slowly. The town was asleep.