Mrs Mott-Tyler stubbed out her cigarette, took another from the silver box and lighted it.

‘Oh, you know how professional people are,’ she said in her laconic way. ‘Always taking the gloomy view. According to them, half the world should be in the Infirmary and the other half in the Asylum.’

‘She said I should be in a Home. I resent that very much. I had a fall, and some concussion, and have lost part of my memory, which even she admits might return to me at any moment. That doesn’t make me a lunatic.’

‘There is just one little thing which you haven’t taken into account. I think that is what she meant by a straight talk. I don’t know whether it’ll help to settle you or not, but you might as well know. There’s quite a bit of time which you have forgotten and which is unaccounted for.’

‘The time I was in Walwyk?’

‘No. Before that. You say yourself that you left Africa in January 1956. You went to teach in Walwyk in April of this year. You see? Margery has some excuse for her over-anxiety. You may, for all we know, have been in and out of mental homes all that time.’

Now indeed she could feel her mind reel.

‘You are sure about that?’

‘Perfectly sure.’

‘It does leave a gap. But I couldn’t have been in mental homes. After all, when you apply for a post, you have references.’

‘Against that we must set Hal Thorby’s passion for lame dogs. Employ her because nobody else would – that’s his attitude. Oh, God, I’ve bitched this, haven’t I? Somebody else should’ve . . . not my line at all. Don’t look so devastated. It doesn’t matter. You’re all right now. It’s just that we have to keep an eye . . . How did all this start, anyhow? Oh, your letter.’

‘I wrote to Canon Thorby.’ Holding the letter, Miss Mayfield rose and went to the writing table which stood between the windows. She lifted the silver paper knife and carefully slit the envelope in such a way that it could be sealed again.

‘Read it,’ she said. ‘And tell me frankly, please. Is that the letter of a lunatic?’

‘Reading other people’s letters,’ said Mrs Mott-Tyler with a gesture of distaste, ‘never was my game.’

‘Please.’

She was glad that she had said how happy and comfortable she had been at Barnhurst.

Mrs Mott-Tyler glanced at the letter, gave a shrug and handed it back.