Mark grinned and nodded.

‘What do you want to do when you leave school, Mark?’

‘I’d like to do something with languages. Dad doesn’t like it, but it’s what I want.’

‘Why isn’t your father keen?’

‘He says there’s no money in it.’

‘Well, that’s true,’ she agreed with a rueful grin.

‘But I don’t care about that,’ he said eagerly. ‘Languages take you into other people’s minds, and different worlds, so you’re not trapped any more, and-’

This was the boy she knew in class, words tumbling over each other in his joy at the glorious flame he’d discovered. Evie smiled encouragement.

‘I like Italian best,’ he said. ‘One day I want to go to Italy-hang on.’

A knock at the door had signalled Lily’s arrival with tea. While Mark was letting her in Evie looked at the shelf behind her chair and saw, with pleasure, how many books it contained. She took down the nearest volume and jumped as a photograph fell out from between the pages.

Picking it up, she saw that it was of a young woman with a little boy, plainly a much younger Mark. They were laughing directly into each other’s eyes.

His mother, she thought.

Something caught in her throat at the feeling that blazed from that picture. If ever two people had loved each other it was these two. But she was dead, and now his life was lived with a harsh father in a house whose luxury couldn’t hide its bleakness.

Suddenly she became aware of the silence and looked up to find Mark watching her, his face pale.

‘Oh, that’s what became of it,’ he said. ‘I was afraid I’d lost it.’

He held out his hand and she gave him the photograph.

‘Is that-?’

‘Shall I pour you some tea?’ he asked, almost too politely.