‘If you like,’ he replied.

‘I like!’

Willoughby said nothing.

‘Let’s eat,’ said Clarissa, coming back to Charlie.

The dining room was an unusual construction. Fifty people could easily have been accommodated, but there were sliding partitions which criss-crossed in dividing positions, so areas could be closed off to suit the number of people to be seated. With only three, the room was reduced to an annex. A round table was set and Clarissa stood waiting for Charlie to help her to her chair. He held back for Willoughby to do it.

‘It’s a worthwhile charity,’ said Clarissa to Charlie. ‘You must come.’

‘I’ll try,’ he said. He wouldn’t. He was unsure even whether tonight was a good idea. Clarissa had always been dismissive of her husband but he hadn’t suspected it would be this bad. He and Edith had never got like this, not even towards the end when there was every reason for the resentment and recriminations.

Under the butler’s direction, a Latin-looking woman served pheasant, while he poured claret from a cut-glass decanter.

‘Must be a year since you two were in New York,’ said Willoughby.

‘And two weeks,’ added Clarissa. Charlie wished she hadn’t.

‘You must have enjoyed it there,’ said the underwriter. ‘Clarissa could hardly stop talking about it when she got back.’

‘We did, didn’t we Charlie? It was fun!’

‘Fun’ was a favourite word of Clarissa’s, remembered Charlie. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We had a few laughs.’

‘Rupert doesn’t laugh a lot, do you Rupert?’ she said.

‘I don’t have much to laugh about.’

They’d probably squabble over whether every day began with a dawn, thought Charlie. He felt like a piece of rope, being yanked over a dividing line between them.

‘Did you ever?’