Silence reasserted itself. Laura seemed content to sit with her thoughts, but Martin felt a strangling desperation, a longing to shout and yell at her. He had waited so long to get to know her. What was going on in her mind? They had been up here hours, the world would wake up soon, he would lose his chance. He must take a risk. He said: ‘Do you think while we wait for young Claud to surface that you could pretend that you and I are alone in a compartment in a train?’

‘Why?’

‘On the assumption that strangers meeting in trains can speak intimately, since the odds are they are safe to speak the truth because they will never meet again.’

‘If you are bored, you can push off, go home, I am quite all right.’ (I do not need you, her voice implied.)

Martin ignored the snub. ‘What do you say to my suggestion?’ His tone indicated that she might be chicken.

‘Intimacy is not my genre,’ she said, yet the idea of the train appealed to her, it had an irresponsible attraction; perhaps this man would prove truthful. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’m game.’

‘Shall I begin? My name is Martin Bengough. My job in this country, which incidentally I have just chucked, has been to follow people like your conductor friend Clug when they visit and see that they don’t spy on military establishments and so forth, but stick to their allotted programmes.’

‘Jolly boring.’

‘Usually yes. With Clug one got music and the bonus of watching you.’

‘And discovering that I am not a military establishment.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Still pretty dire.’

‘My aunt Calypso Grant thinks it’s disreputable.’

‘A bit harsh. You have to live and as I remember there was more than one of you.’

‘Twelve of us.’

‘My, my! Twelve people to spy on poor little Cluggie! Is that what we pay taxes for? Gosh.’ Martin winced. ‘Sorry, go on.’

‘I was enchanted by you. I wanted to get to know you. When I passed Clug on to the next fellow for the last time, I doubled back here, made use of a silly ploy. I pretended to have lost my umbrella. I had left it in the concert hall on purpose. The caretaker girl told me that your mother would have it; this was splendid, I was able to come to your house, a legitimate excuse. You had been out with your parents, had difficulty with them when you arrived back—’

‘I remember. They were legless. You were most helpful. My mother bit you. She can be naughty.’

‘I bear the scar,’ said Martin.

‘And you knew the password for Bonzo.’

‘The caretaker girl had warned me that he was fierce, told me about the Eastbourne bit.’ Laura laughed. Was she relaxing? ‘There now, we have made a start on our train journey. Were you in love with Clug?’ Martin asked.

‘Lord, no.’ Laura was amused.