She shrugged. ‘I can’t stop you.’ No, she thought, surely? Someone at a meeting like that wouldn’t be an axeman. They were all pacifists, Quakers. Gentle people. Besides, he didn’t seem cross and his face was intelligent.

The nippy came over, young and ill-formed in her black dress and white pinny.

‘May I treat you to a cup of tea?’ he said.

‘If you like.’ Non-committal.

‘Two teas,’ he said. ‘And two iced buns.’

The waitress wrote it down. Her writing, Betty could see, was unsure and immature. She was probably called Gladys, or Beryl.

‘Actually,’ Betty said, ‘I’d rather have a Chelsea bun.’

The nippy scowled, corrected the order, let her notebook dangle on its string and replaced the dirty ashtray with a clean one from the table beside it. The man fished in his pocket and pulled out a packet of Weights. He flipped it open and offered it to Betty.

‘Thank you.’ She took a cigarette and propped it between her fingers, leaning forward for him to light it. He rummaged in his trouser pocket, and the other one, then patted his jacket.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I seem to have forgotten my matches. Do you have a light?’

Betty laughed and peered into her bag, pulling out her lighter. She held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute.

‘Always prepared.’ She leaned forward and lit his cigarette, and her own, closed the lighter and threw it into her bag. She was in control now, and it made her feel safer.

‘Be prepared,’ he said. ‘That’s the Boy Scouts’ motto.’ He smiled and dragged on his cigarette. ‘Did you come by yourself?’

She lifted her face to the ceiling and blew a smoke ring, a perfect circle. She paused, turned and looked at him through lowered eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said, plucking a strand of tobacco from her lip, flicking it into the air. So what?

‘What did you think? Of the speakers?’ he said, taking another long breath on his cigarette.

‘All right.’ She tapped her ash in the tray and looked past him, over his shoulder, as if she was waiting for someone. ‘What about you?’

‘I thought they were first-rate.’

She turned and studied him. He wasn’t as old as she’d thought. More like thirty than forty, not that much older than her, and his face was kind, good-looking even. Perhaps there was nothing sinister about him, he was just trying to be friendly. But he was awkward, she could sense, as if he was unused to striking up a conversation. Or was expecting a rebuff.

‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I meant to get there on time but the bus didn’t come for ages. You know how it is, you dither whether to walk or not, and the more you dither, the later it gets.’

‘No worries.’ He smiled. ‘You settled down in the end,’ he said, adding, ‘Sort of.’