‘My mother’s really very nice,’ he said at last.

‘I’m sure she is.’

‘And she liked Caitlin a lot. A lot. She just has this …’

The telephone rang.

‘… thing about religion.’

He paused.

She didn’t move.

‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘No. I’m busy. Can’t you see I’m busy? I’m listening.’

‘It might be something important.’

She shook her head.

‘No one who matters.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I know.’

‘It could be a surprise.’

‘I don’t like surprises. It’s probably my mother. She rings a lot. She worries about me.’

The telephone stopped ringing. She spread her hands wide. ‘See?’

‘I can never leave a telephone to ring. I can unplug it, I’ve done that occasionally, but once it starts to ring I have to pick it up.’

A flicker of a smile crossed her face.

‘I have been addicted in my day, but I’ve cured myself.’ Without being aware of what she was doing, she caught hold of the fine watch on her wrist and turned it round and round over her thin bones. ‘Go on.’

‘On?’

‘Caitlin, your mother. You were telling me.’

‘Yes. My mother liked her well enough, once she got to know her. She just didn’t like our situation. She never considered that we were really married. She used to drop little hints … rock-like hints, really, and we would pretend that we didn’t catch on. It became a bit tedious, but there wasn’t anything that we could do. We didn’t like to hurt her feelings any more than we already had. She calmed down in the end. I think she prayed a lot for us. She believes very much in the power of prayer. Supplication. Is your mother a religious lady?’

Clara thought about that.

‘I don’t know. That sounds a bit daft. When we were kids, when my father was alive, we … well, we observed the rituals. He had to really, it was bred into his bones. His father was a bishop.’

‘A bishop?’

‘Ever heard of Protestants?’

‘Sorry.’

‘My mother sort of eased off with the churchgoing after he died and now I don’t think she ever goes at all, except for weddings and funerals. She might be a believer in her head, though. We never talk about it. She makes jam.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know. I just said it.’

‘It’s nothing to do with God.’

‘I’m not so sure. It’s a sign of her generosity. She gives us jam and cakes and biscuits and such a lot of love, and it doesn’t matter what we do or say or where we go, she’s always ready with the jam. She is somewhere safe to hide. Isn’t that really what God is all about?’

‘You never learnt much theology.’

‘That’s true enough. Have some more coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’ He pushed his cup away across the table and started to laugh.

‘What’s funny?’ she asked.

‘Somewhere safe to hide. That’s what’s funny. Your grandfather was a bishop and you have these weird notions.’