I tried again when we got to his house.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘won’t you please stay with us tonight?’

‘Good night, Charlie,’ he said and shut the door.

At home, I told Johanna about things as briefly as I could, then announced that I wanted to write letters. I went up to my dressing-room and stood at the open window, in the dark. Across the fields Sam’s house was a blaze of lights, then, one by one, they started to go out. I gripped the window-sill. It was very cold and a thin rain sifted on to my face.

When the shot came I stayed where I was.

Jock drifted into the room.

‘Shot from over Cherche-fuites way,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, are we going over there?’

‘No.’

‘You going to phone then, Mr Charlie?’

‘Get out, Jock.’

Five minutes later Johanna crept in and took one of my arms in both of hers, pressing it to her poor breast.

‘Dear Charlie, why are you standing here in the dark and shivering. And crying? All right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, of course you’re not crying, I can see you’re not.’

But she closed the window and drew the curtains and led me to my bed, making me lie down, spreading a quilt over me.

‘Good night, Charlie,’ she said. ‘Please sleep now.’

‘Oh, very well,’ I said. But I would have liked to tell her about it.

‘Johanna,’ I said, as she opened the door.

‘Yes, Charlie?’

‘I forgot to ask – how is the canary?’

She didn’t answer.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

She closed the door, very gently.