“No, you were always honest—honest or careful. And you couldn’t even give me fidelity, could you? An attractive man, a distinguished surgeon, divorced, eligible. Do you think I don’t know how often you’ve relied on me—on my ruthlessness, if you like—to get rid of those avaricious little gold-diggers who were trying to get their claws into you? And I’m not talking about a casual affair. For me it was never that. I’m talking about eight years of commitment. Tell me—when we’re apart, do I ever enter your mind? Do you ever picture me except gowned and masked in the theatre, anticipating your every need, knowing what you like and what you don’t like, what music you want played while you work, available when wanted, discreetly on the margin of your life? Not so very different from being in bed, is it? But at least in the operating theatre there was no easy substitute.”

His voice was calm, but he knew with some shame that Flavia wouldn’t miss the clear note of insincerity. “Flavia, I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ve been thoughtless and unintentionally unkind. I had no idea you felt like this.”

“I’m not asking for pity. Spare me that. I’m not even asking for love. You haven’t got it to give. I’m asking for justice. I want marriage. The status of being a wife, the hope of children. I’m thirty-six. I don’t want to work until I retire. And what then? Using my retirement lump sum to buy a cottage in the country, hoping the villagers will accept me? Or a one-bedded flat in London when I’ll never be able to afford a decent address? I have no siblings. I’ve neglected friends to be with you, to be available when you have time for me.”

He said, “I never asked you to sacrifice your life for me. That is, if you say it’s a sacrifice.”

But now she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “In eight years we’ve never had a holiday together, in this country or abroad. How often have we been to a show, a film, dined in a restaurant except one where there’ll be no risk of meeting someone you know? I want these ordinary companionable things that other people enjoy.”

He said again, and with some sincerity, “I’m sorry. Obviously I’ve been selfish and unthinking. I think in time you’ll be able to look back on these eight years more positively. And it isn’t too late. You’re very attractive and you’re still young. It’s sensible to recognise when a stage of life has come to an end, when it’s time to move on.”

And now, even in the darkness, he thought he could see her contempt. “You mean to throw me over?”