‘Margaret. Are you awake?’ His voice was so close: he was whispering in her ear. She waited on her knees, pulsating like a baby bird.

The silence went on for so long she wondered if he had gone.

‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

She waited, hardly breathing.

‘I love you and I want you to be my wife. I don’t know how else to get you to see what you mean to me . . . I’ve kept away from you, though I was longing to see you with every fibre of my being . . . Your father said . . . Look – can I come in? We must talk, properly. I need to explain myself to you.’

She let the silence after this go on. The first sound was a gasp, a cough almost. Gradually she realized he was weeping.

‘You torment me,’ he sobbed. ‘I hardly know who I am when I am near you, Margaret, my love, my darling love.’

There came another long pause.

‘Speak to me – please. I don’t want to have to force my way in, but I shall, if you don’t say something to me. I know you return my love. You tormented me then, with your body, your kisses. I was an innocent when I met you – innocent in love . . . And you . . . you made me feel things – for the first time in my life. You led me – you awakened me . . .’

He rambled on. She listened, staggered by the absurd self-deception of the man. Innocent – he was not far off thirty and she but a girl of nineteen! She had a hard, cold feeling now of certainty. Where before she had wondered so many times whether it had been she who was to blame, now she knew she was faced with something utterly self-centred and deranged. Though she was shaking with fear, this certainty gave her strength.

Eventually, in the face of her silence, he closed the door again and she heard the key turn, the steps receding. She slumped down on the chair, her chest heaving. He’s mad, she thought. How did we not see it before? She tried to reason things out. He had not tried to force his way in. If she stayed here until the morning, then she must make something happen. In the daylight she might see if there was something with which she could more easily break the window . . .

Sinking back she fell into a light doze, only to be wakened again by the turning key, his voice sliding through the crack.

‘You can’t escape me for ever, Margaret. I could come in any time I please.’ He slammed the door against the back of the chair several times, as if to flex his muscles. ‘But I’m not the sort of man to behave like that – you know that, don’t you?’