Jean relaxed her grip fractionally but Howard did not.

“She said that?”

“Yes, and plenty more besides. She was distraught—begging me to persuade you to take her back. You can imagine how that made me feel.”

“Oh, Jean, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“No. I’m sure you don’t. It’s rather awkward, isn’t it?” Her voice was bright with self-command.

“I thought this Martha was the great love of her life. What’s happened?”

“Apparently, it’s not quite as blissful as she imagined. And not enough to make up for losing Margaret.”

“Ah, so it’s Margaret she misses. Not the marriage.”

They had broken apart now and begun to walk again, a little gap—perhaps six inches—between their trailing hands. Jean felt it as an abyss between them, but she didn’t have the courage to reach across it. Let him come to her if he wanted to.

“She wants you to be a family again,” Jean said. “And to be a ‘proper wife’—her words.”

It was physically painful to plead Gretchen’s cause, but she was determined not to withhold anything or twist it to her advantage.

“How is that possible?” Howard exclaimed. “We both know it’s against her nature.”

“That’s really down to her to explain. You can hardly expect me to—”

“I suppose I’ll have to see her.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, damn. What a mess.”

He patted his pockets in desperation until Jean came to his rescue and offered him one of her own cigarettes. He puffed at it urgently as though he would rather smoke than breathe. Jean could sense his distress at being placed in a situation where he would be forced to disappoint someone.

She had half hoped that he would dismiss Gretchen’s pleas without hesitation and proclaim Jean his only love, but this was a fantasy. Howard was the least histrionic of men. He would do the right, sober and generous thing. All the same, his failure to offer her any word of reassurance made her spirit shrivel.

They walked on in silence, their thoughts racing along on separate tracks. If he would only give her some consolation to cling to, she knew she could be brave.

“Gretchen said you can only phone on Wednesdays or Fridays while Martha’s at work,” Jean remembered.

“Good grief! I don’t see why I need to go in for all this subterfuge just to have a conversation with my own wife!”

Howard flung his exhausted cigarette into the bushes and then changed his mind and went to retrieve it. Even at this extremity he couldn’t do something unworthy.

“It depends what you decide. If you intend to take her back and make a go of things it hardly matters whether or not Martha’s nose is put out of joint.”

He turned to her in surprise.

“Is that what you think I should do?”

“What does it matter what I think?” she replied, betraying more indignation than she intended. “It’s nothing to do with me!”

“But it affects you, too. And your opinion is important to me. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”