Gil did not feel his wife could better such a round statement, nor did she attempt, but went away to supervise the feeding of her many children. She had done what she could for Anthea.

And Mrs Mortlock was all packed to leave for the Island when the letter from Hathaway and Simpson came.

Mr Simpson wrote:

... apologies for not communicating with you sooner... difficulties in ascertaining your present whereabouts.

Mrs Mortlock arrived presently at Mr Simpson’s point:

... My client and your husband Mr Hessell Mortlock died on the 7th September following a car accident and a seizure. Already on the 4th he had set out, alone, and driving his own car, to keep an appointment with me, when, apparently as the result of an attack, he collided with a telegraph pole. I proceeded the following day, to his home, but Mr Mortlock was unfortunately incapable of conveying the nature of his business. Three days later he was carried off by a second stroke. Perhaps it was all for the best considering the vigour and independence of his mind. Please accept the warmest sympathy of myself and senior partner, Mr K. Y. Hathaway, in your loss....

Mrs Scudamore had been out to pay a call on someone she suspected of not wishing to receive her. When she returned her daughter was in bed.

‘What is it, Anthea?’ she asked, afraid it might be something she would not want to face.

But when she heard: ‘There!’ she said. ‘That is retribution! For that horrid man. Whom I found smarmy before he turned mean and rude. I never liked him.’

She seated herself by the bed in the room which Mrs Mortlock had expressly darkened.

‘But,’ said Mrs Scudamore, ‘is that all they told you?’

‘Who?’

‘The solicitors, silly! Where is the letter?’

‘I tore it up.’

‘Any document of that kind,’ Mrs Scudamore gasped, ‘should be kept to produce if necessary.’

Here was this daughter suddenly become a child again.

‘I don’t want to be reminded,’ the latter said. But added for her mother’s information: ‘Mr Simpson did tell me at the end I am the sole beneficiary.’

‘Then he did not change it!’ Mrs Scudamore cried. ‘But was on his way to do so. That wicked man! It’s as I said. A retribution! Oh dear, Anthea, I’m so glad! For you, I mean.’

For two days longer Mrs Mortlock kept to her bed, partly because her legs remained feeble from the shock, partly because she wished to luxuriate in what she felt could be the only possible moral decision. To renounce Hessell Mortlock’s beastly money. The money he hadn’t intended her to have. To rise above the humiliation their life together had imposed on her. Sometimes, however, Mrs Mortlock wavered miserably before the prospect of her ethical triumph, particularly after a glass of wine. She would burst into tears, and Mrs Scudamore would say:

‘I can understand, darling, after all you have suffered, that your feelings must be a little mixed. In any case you served him loyally for ten whole years. You deserve repayment.’