‘I’m sorry. I’ll get a cab now. I’ll be with you soon.’

I stood up and smiled. ‘Can you get me a cab?’

‘I’ll drive you,’ she said. ‘It would be nice to see Jacqueline.’

We didn’t talk on the way back. The streets were quiet, there was nothing on the road. We pulled up outside my flat and I said thank you and we made an arrangement to meet for tea the following week and then she said, ‘I’ve got tickets for the opera tomorrow night. Elgin can’t come. Will you come?’

‘We’re supposed to be having a night in tomorrow.’

She nodded and I got out. No kiss.

What to do? Should I stay in with Jacqueline and hate it and start the slow motor of hating her? Should I make an excuse and go out? Should I tell the truth and go out? I can’t have it all my own way, relationships are about compromise. Give and take. Maybe I don’t want to stay in but she wants me to stay in. I should be glad to do that. It will make us stronger and sweeter. These were my thoughts as she slept beside me and if she had any fears she did not reveal them in those night-time hours. I looked at her lying trustfully in the spot where she had lain for so many nights. Could this bed be treacherous?

By morning I was bad tempered and exhausted. Jacqueline, ever cheerful, got into her mini and went to her mother’s. At noon she rang to ask me over. Her mother wasn’t well and she wanted to spend the night with her.

‘Jacqueline,’ I said. ‘Stay the night. We’ll see each other tomorrow.’

I felt reprieved and virtuous. Now I could sit in my own flat by myself and be pragmatic. Sometimes the best company is your own.

During the interval of The Marriage of Figaro I realised how often other people looked at Louise. On every side we were battered by sequins, dazed with gold. The women wore their jewellery like medals. A husband here, a divorce there, they were a palimpsest of love-affairs. The chokers, the brooch, the rings, the tiara, the studded watch that couldn’t possibly tell the time to anyone without a magnifying glass. The bracelets, the ankle-chains, the veil hung with seed pearls and the earrings that far outnumbered the ears. All these jewels were escorted by amply cut grey suits and dashingly spotted ties. The ties twitched when Louise walked by and the suits pulled themselves in a little. The jewels glinted their own warning at Louise’s bare throat. She wore a simple dress of moss green silk, a pair of jade earrings, and a wedding ring. ‘Never take your eyes from that ring,’ I told myself. ‘Whenever you think you are falling remember that ring is molten hot and will burn you through and through.’

‘What are you looking at?’ said Louise.

‘You bloody idiot,’ said my friend. ‘Another married woman.’