“I’ve got to go home.”

“You’re wet through. Get dry by the fire a minute. I’ll get you a lift home.”

“No, I’m late.”

He pats his knee. “Sit here, deane, lass.” He has a glass and a bottle by him. “I want to give you a drop. Come on. I don’t want sex.”

She perches on his lap. He has not counted the dogs. Alice Long will be up to ninety-nine, but it’s Hamilton’s fault from now. Hamilton has taken the dogs.

“Now sip.”

She recognises whisky.

“Take a good swallow.”

He gives her a lemon drop to hide her breath, then gives her a kiss on her mouth while she is still sucking the sweet.

“I’m going now. I hope the dogs are all right.”

“Oh, the dogs, they’re all right.”

He takes her hand and goes to find one of the workmen who are mending the House. Alice Long is not home yet from her meeting, and she will not miss the workman for a few minutes.

Mamie climbs into the foreman’s car beside the workman. The seat is covered with white dust, but she does not brush it off the seat before sliding onto it. Her clothes will be spoiled. She feels safe beside the driver. The whisky has given her back a real afternoon.

“What’s the time, please?” she asks.

“About twenty past four.”

The man backs and turns. Hamilton has gone into his quarters. The car skirts the House, turning by the large new clearing where, in the summer, the tourists’ coaches come.

“You can’t get many up here in Northumberland. They all swarm to the old houses in the South. Here, it’s out of the way . . .“

“Well, it’s an experience for those who do come, Miss Long. Especially the Catholics.”