Then Pauline said, considering, ‘Well, I remember when I was about sixteen hearing that men could only have so many goes at sex and that was it. I think it was to put young boys off wanking. Perhaps Terence used up all his goes. Although I’d find it hard to believe.’

‘I believed him Pauly.’

‘I’ve noticed these days he does a lot of macho carryon, you know those moody photographs against brick walls in South London wearing a leather jacket with a bottle in his hand, like a middle-aged James Dean?’

‘Yeah I know, I’ve noticed. I think they were stills for that new film of his, Diversions. Nice actually, weren’t they?’ And they both laughed, and the afternoon softened, there on the lawn

‘But – why would he have told you Moll? It’s not something you’d expect him to go round talking about is it, not Terence, even in his cups.’

‘I know.’ Molly paused, uncertain. Not even Pauline knew how she felt about Terence, what he had done for her. ‘I had the feeling – oh – that it just slipped out in a kind of desperation, that he didn’t mean to tell me at all. I – I think he’s always known that I was – grateful to him.’

‘Grateful?’

‘Pauly... oh... there were tough goings-on in my house when I was a kid, you know that.’ Molly’s eyes clouded over briefly for a moment. ‘I could’ve been put off sex forever. But – in some way it was thanks to Terence that I wasn’t. I can’t exactly explain.’ Nor could she speak to Pauline of all people about sex, as they skirted around the pain of the past. She went on quickly: ‘We sat in that marvellous living room he’s got in Hampstead, all those original paintings and soft sofas—’

‘Yes I know that house, it’s beautiful,’ said Pauline.