She felt very tired, consumed by the desire for sleep. She took cushions from the chairs, laid them on the hearthrug. In the bedroom Claud slept sprawled across her bed, his head thrown back, arms wide, breathing evenly. She took a blanket which had slipped to the floor and, closing the door, stretched out by the fire, covering herself with the blanket, laying her head on the cushions. The pain of the burn was less immediate. Her thoughts under control, she felt the cat creep up past her feet to settle purring by her head. The balance which had tipped was regained. Tomorrow she would care for Emily and Nicholas. As soon as they were well she would return to London to catch up with her orders, the boring awful hand for Helen’s fake Apollo for instance. She would scramble back to normal. She fell asleep exhausted.

Laura woke to hear Claud moving about. She feigned sleep. She did not want to talk to him, needed time to recover her composure. She heard him dressing, muttering to himself as he did so. He came into her living-room and, seeing her lying on the hearthrug, whispered, ‘Oh.’ She waited for him to go. If she let him know she was awake he would expect breakfast and, worse still, conversation and love.

Claud knelt near her and added kindling then logs to the dying fire. He did not touch her. She listened to him moving about the room, to the sound of paper torn from a pad, a pause while he wrote a message. Then he let himself out. She heard the scuffle as he put on his shoes. Then he was gone.

The slight draught from the briefly-opened door counterbalanced the fire which flared up, spitting, as the flame travelled. She was aware of her scorched hand. The burn was not a bad one; her hand had not been long in the fire. She felt uncomfortable from sleeping in her clothes, looked round the untidy room in disgust. Its deliberate chaos usually helped her endure her visits to her family, but not today. She decided that she would reduce her quarters to order before she returned to her obsessively neat flat. Standing chilly and dishevelled, she now keenly wished to get back to London but for a few days at best she must stay and care for Emily and Nicholas. She was ruefully amused by a sense of responsibility quite lacking in her parents.

Claud’s note on the table said: ‘Darling, sleep on. Am off to joyous work. I will come back tonight. Love C.’

‘He is very sure of himself,’ she said to the cat.