‘You’re joking, of course.’

‘Yeah…’ He undid the knots in the window cord, shrugged, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘God, this place gives you the willies. It reeks of warm disinfectant. Creepy. How much longer are you going to lie here rotting?’

‘Days,’ I said mildly. ‘Have a good trip.’

‘See you.’ He nodded, drifting in relief to the door. ‘Do you want anything? I mean, books or anything?’

‘Nothing, thanks.’

‘Nothing… that’s just your form, Sid, mate. You don’t want nothing.’ He grinned and went.

I wanted nothing. My form. My trouble. I’d had what I wanted most in the world and lost it irrevocably. I’d found nothing else to want. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for time to pass. All I wanted was to get back on to my feet and stop feeling as though I had eaten a hundredweight of green apples.

Three weeks after the shooting I had a visit from my father-in-law. He came in the late afternoon, bringing with him a small parcel which he put without comment on the table beside the bed.

‘Well, Sid, how are you?’ He settled himself into an easy chair, crossed his legs and lit a cigar.

‘Cured, more or less. I’ll be out of here soon.’

‘Good. Good. And your plans are…?’

‘I haven’t any.’

‘You can’t go back to the agency without some… er… convalescence,’ he remarked.

‘I suppose not.’

‘You might prefer somewhere in the sun,’ he said, studying the cigar. ‘But I would like it if you could spend some time with me at Aynsford.’

I didn’t answer immediately.

‘Will…?’ I began and stopped, wavering.

‘No,’ he said. ‘She won’t be there. She’s gone out to Athens to stay with Jill and Tony. I saw her off yesterday. She sent you her regards.’

‘Thanks,’ I said dryly. As usual I did not know whether to be glad or sorry that I was not going to meet my wife. Nor was I sure that this trip to see her sister Jill was not as diplomatic as Tony’s job in the Corps.