Here he was, anyway.

Marchant came into the bar briskly, saw her at once, and stepped up on to the platform.

“Hi, Belle!” He sat down at her table. “How many drinks ahead are you?”

“Hallo, Paul.” Now we’re both on the merry-go-round, she thought; but this time he’s going to step off and I’m going to stay on – maybe for ever … “No drinks. I waited for you.”

“We’ll soon cure that.” He ordered daiquiris, and, when they were brought, unexpectedly downed most of his at one gulp. Paul knows, she thought on the instant, sipping her own rum less needfully. Or he’s got an idea of what I’m going to say, and he’s going to fight it all he can. That was what the quick drink had been for.

She said, as she always did: “How was the day?”

“The day was OK.” He looked round the room in search of further comment, and found none. The bar had moved through a quarter-segment of a circle before he said: “It’s time I had a holiday though. And you too. How about it?”

“I’m not sure that I can, now, Paul. Too many things to do.”

He took that, correctly, for the warning shot it was, and decided to close with the enemy. After one more quick swallow, he said: “How’s Esther?”

“Fine.”

“Have you made your mind up yet?”

“Yes, Paul.”

“What’s it to be?”

“I want her to stay here.”

Marchant nodded to himself, showing no surprise at this defeating turn of events. His face was serious, and withdrawn, as if the thoughts he had on this subject were so different from hers that he did not know how to communicate them without anger.

“I think it’s a great pity, Belle. And I think you’re going to find that out.”

“Maybe. It’s what I want to do, anyway. I’ve thought a lot about it. I just feel that I can’t send her back now.”

“But what’s going to happen? How long are you going to keep her?”

“There’s no time limit. I’m going to see if she can be trained.”

“You mean, you’ll put her into an institution?”

“No. I’ll have her taught the deaf-and-dumb language, and whatever they do for the blind – Braille, and things like that.”

“But she can learn all that far better if she’s in an institution.”

“No.” Mrs Bannister paused, to marshal her strength. “Because I’m going to learn it with her.”

“What?” This, at least, he had never foreseen. “You mean, talk to her yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You must be raving mad! Who’s going to look after her, anyway? She needs a nurse – a companion.”

“I’ll be that too.”

“You must be mad,” he repeated.

“I’m not, Paul.” She leant across to take his hand – a hand totally unresponsive, a hating hand. “I started this thing for Esther, and I’m going on with it. I don’t want her to become a – an orphan again. I want her to have a normal life, in a home of her own. And I’m the only one who can give it to her.”