There was no expression in her cool grey eyes, though she looked at me without blinking. Not at me, perhaps, but at all the things I meant, because I was here, all the things she was going to have to do now that she was a widow. That was my impression. I was breaking into the small Confusing world that was taking its place between the old one, where her husband had been, and the new one, where he would not be.

'Oh,' she said at last, not having heard what I'd said, perhaps, or not knowing how to answer. 'Are you in the Foreign Office?'

'I'm in one of their lesser-known departments.' Not true, but the lesser-known' bit should give her the idea that she shouldn't ask for specifics. She thought about that. She was pretty, in an ethereal way, pale and cool and still. I couldn't see her playing tennis, but of course she might have looked quite different a week ago, before it had happened.

'We'd better go in,' she said, but it had the sound of a question.

'Not unless you want to.' She might not feel like being in the house now that it was empty. Perhaps that was why she'd come out here.

'But you'd like some tea.'

'Not really.'

'Oh.' She watched me quietly for a moment, then looked around and said, 'We could sit down, I suppose.' There were some rustic-looking chairs at the edge of the lawn, where the tennis court began, their white paint beginning to peel. 'Am I being terribly unwelcoming?' She said it without a smile, dipping her head, so that her long fair hair swung a little.

'Look,' I said, 'this isn't a social visit, and I want to make it as painless for you as I can.'

In a moment: 'Painless?'