I listen to Clive and Roger discuss travel, mutual acquaintances, art. I make no attempt to join in. I focus on the bright planes of light created by the speeding train, the mercurial green of the passing fields. I do not fail to notice Roger’s kindness. Nor the way he looks at me whenever there is a lull in his talk with Clive.

The next time I see Roger is in London. He dines with us at Gordon Square. It is one of my first parties since Quentin’s birth and I am anxious that it should go well. As we leave the table for the drawing room Roger catches up with me. We stand facing each other in the chilly hallway. It is Roger who speaks first.

“How is your new baby?”

The gentleness in his voice hits home. Suddenly I cannot stop myself from crying. Tears slide down my cheeks, splash onto my dress, splatter onto the floor. All my pent-up feelings, all the anxiety and exhaustion and bitterness I have carried inside me ever since Quentin was born, well up and overwhelm me. Prompted by the concern of this almost stranger I pour out torment after torment. I tell Roger about Clive’s indifference to his two sons and how I am too tired to paint. I tell him my new baby will not gain weight and that I think you are having an affair with Clive. Roger catches each of my torments and holds them fast. He weighs them in his hands. Then he leads me back into the deserted dining room and casts about for solutions.

Mother’s necklace is as beautiful as I remember. My hand trembles as I take it out of its box and hold it against my throat. The gems catch the light as I look in the mirror. It is the first time I have worn it since she died.

Clive comes toward me struggling with his tie.

“Damned thing! I can’t seem to get it right. Sometimes it knots beautifully, without any apparent effort, and at other times it’s the devil’s own job to make a decent bow.”

I hook the clasp on Mother’s necklace and turn round.

“Here. Let me try.”

Clive stoops so that I can reach the tie from my stool. As I lift my arms to fasten it he kisses me fondly. I rest my head against his chest for a moment and smell his familiar scent of soap and eau de cologne. Then I knot his tie. Clive bends to examine the result in the mirror.

“I’d forgotten how adept you are.”

His hands caress my shoulders and his fingers stray to Mother’s necklace.

“It suits you. I hope your dinner partner appreciates how lovely you look.”