They walked back to the office in silence, in the October sunshine, for the traffic was too noisy to permit conversation, and Kate reflected, not for the first time, that it was very shocking of her to be pleased that Hugo had lost half his arm in Eritrea buggering around drunkenly with a stray grenade, and indeed pleased wasn’t quite the word, for she’d been very upset when the news came through, but nevertheless she was pleased in some wicked corner of herself, for now she could look after him and cut up his meat once or twice a week, and make him duly grateful, without feeling she was imposing on him in any way. A horrible, manipulating, dominating, castrating, busybody woman, that’s what I am, she thought, I like everyone to depend on me, why ever is that? And Hugo, for his part, thought of Kate and her history, of their long friendship, of her recent misfortunes, and wondered how she was getting on, really, inside herself, and whether or not she was managing to put herself together again. It wasn’t an arm she’d lost, but a baby, and it had shaken her more than he’d believed possible. She had gone to pieces in the strangest way, though not many people knew her well enough to notice. At first he too had been obscurely pleased by her misfortunes, to note that she too was weak, vulnerable, a victim of circumstance, for her high-handedness in her good years had occasionally annoyed even him, as it had certainly annoyed many of their friends and colleagues; it had been interesting to see her waver, make mistakes, make a fool of herself, stop looking so bloody pleased with herself all the time. But this satisfaction had given way to a worthier though equally selfish regret. He wanted her to cheer up, because she was more amusing when she was up than when she was down. She wasn’t boring yet, but she would be if she went on like this about women and groups. He knew enough angry, disillusioned, bitter women. Kate had been light relief, of a high quality. Always good for a laugh. He didn’t like to see her sink into seriousness. Let her be happy, let her recover, let her be a freak escape from the general doom. Her life had been freakish enough so far, surely she could find a way out of this particular trap?