She sniffed loudly, pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose hard.

‘Do you want the Russians here?’ There was spittle on his lip. ‘I thought,’ he added, his voice vibrating as he controlled his anger, ‘you’d learned your lesson with the Russians.’

She stood, open-mouthed, speechless, a million memories hurtling, burning. Her breath came short, pelting in and out. She picked up her cup and threw it at him. The tea splashed on the ground but the cup flew past him, landing on the lawn, unbroken. She stood, hands clenching and unclenching, expecting him to leap up and shake her, but he sat, his lip curled, silent, superior.

‘It’s nothing to do with Russia,’ she said, after a minute or so. Her voice was low and she was swallowing hard, dollops of saliva threatening to choke her.

‘No? Where do you think these ban the bomb people get their money from?’ He narrowed his eyes, not waiting for her reply. ‘The Russians, that’s who. They want us to disarm. And then they walk all over us. Communism is a scourge.’ His voice was full of threat, fury. ‘Only the Germans saw that, had the courage to confront it.’ He paused, shaking his head, adding, ‘We were right all along.’

Betty stood, words churning, but no sound came out. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

‘It was Germany who bore the brunt,’ he went on. ‘But that has been conveniently forgotten.’

She thought she might hit him if he said another word. He’d wiped his slate clean, as if he had nothing to do with the history there’d once been. She stomped past him, picked up the teacup, brought it back and slammed it onto the tray.

‘You’ll be telling me next that if Germany had had the Bomb, Russia would never have invaded.’

‘I think as a matter of fact that they would have thought twice about it.’ He held out his hand, beckoning for Betty to come close, to take it. She stayed still. ‘Nobody wants nuclear war,’ he went on, his voice oily. ‘But until everybody destroys their weapons, it’s only common sense to be armed.’ He patted his pockets, pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch. ‘That’s what our government thinks.’

‘But they’re wrong.’

‘Says who? A bunch of scruffy idlers?’ He shredded the tobacco, stuffed it into the bowl of his pipe, tamping it down. He pulled out his lighter, sucked on his pipe, drawing the smoke. She wanted to say, They’re not all idlers, they’re not all scruffy. They’re people like you, too.

‘You will never know the sacrifices I made.’ He was looking at her, his grey eyes unblinking, and she saw in him a sharper steel, a ruthlessness she’d not recognised before.

‘Is there more tea?’ He lifted the teapot, peered inside.

‘Make it yourself,’ Betty said.