But it doesn't seem to worry you at lunchtime. Do you think I've got a time switch on it, then, and can't get it to work in hours of daylight? You should know better.' Evans crossed to her in three swift strides. Instinctively she cowered back, holding her hands before her face, but he made no move to strike her. Instead he reached down, seized the hem of her dress and tugged violently upwards. There was a tearing noise as stitching came apart and the oriental split up the side extended to the waist.

'There,' he said. 'Now you can really see your belly.'

She relaxed, leaned against the wall and began to laugh. At first there was a very faint note of hysteria in it, but this rapidly faded and the laugh deepened to genuine amusement. 'Give us a fag, will you, Arthur?' she said finally, regarding her husband with something like real affection. 'You're not such a bad old faggot when you're roused.' Evans sat on the bed and lit two cigarettes, one of which he passed over to his wife. Thanks,' she said, drew on it deeply and placed it carefully on the edge of the dressing-table while she began to remove her ruined dress.

Evans watched her impassively.

She went to the wardrobe in her slip and opened its door.

'Well,' she said, 'what's it to be? Clubwear, or kitchenwear?'

'Where were you last night, Gwen?'

'At the Club with you, dear. Remember?'

She smiled sweetly. 'Gwen,' he said, 'you're right. It's a daft question, isn't it, girl? I know where you were. Or at least who you were with.' She stiffened and reached down a dress from the hanging rail.

'Oh, do you?'

'Yes, of course I do, Gwen. And I suppose if I know, every other sod in the Club has known for months. But I don't understand you, Gwen. I can see why you encourage all those young lads who come sniffing around you. That'd be flattering to any woman. But a man of my own age. And a friend. What made you pick him, Gwen? What made you pick Connie?'