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understand.’

      I did not know she wanted to come with me. Coming to a new country, you don’t think of people being lonely, but having full lives into which you intrude. But she was looking forlorn, and I said: ‘Don’t you go out in the evenings?’

      ‘Not much. Well, not these days I don’t. It gives me the ’ump, sitting around.’

      ‘Flo said you were engaged to Dan’s brother.’

      She was very shocked. ‘Engaged!’ She blushed. ‘Oh no, dear. You mustn’t say things like that, you’ll put ideas into my head.’

      ‘I’m sorry. Flo said you might be marrying him.’

      ‘Yes, that’s so. I might be, you could say that.’ She sighed. Then she giggled, and gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. ‘Engaged! The things you say, you make me laugh.’

      Flo’s voice sounded up the stairs: ‘There’s a gentleman to see you. Rose, tell her there’s a gentleman.’

      ‘How does she know I’m with you?’

      She said: ‘It’s easy to think Flo’s stupid. Because she is. But not about knowing what goes on.’

      ‘But I don’t know anyone,’ I said.

      ‘Oh, go on. Don’t you know who it is?’

      ‘How should I?’

      ‘It’s Mr Bobby Brent, Mr MacNamara to you. Silly.’

      ‘Oh!’ I got up from the chair.

      ‘You’re not going,’ she said, shocked. ‘Tell Flo to send him off.’

      ‘But I think I’m interested, after what you’ve said.’

      ‘Interested?’

      ‘I mean, I’ve never met anyone like him before.’

      She was puzzled. Then, unmistakably hurt. I did not understand why. ‘Yes?’ was all she said. She turned back to her dressing-table and began brushing her hair out.

      Rose’s yes was the most expressive of monsyllables. It could be sceptical, give you the lie direct, accuse you, reject you. This time it meant: Interested, are you? Well, I can’t afford to be interested in scoundrels. Fancy yourself, don’t you?

      Whenever, in the future, I was interested in a person or a situation which did not have her moral approval, she would repudiate me with precisely that – Yes?

      But her good heart overcame her disapproval, for she said as I left the room: ‘If you must you must. But don’t let him get his hands on to your money.’

      Flo was in the hall with Mr MacNamara. As I came down the stairs he was saying: ‘It’s a little matter. A hundred nicker. And it’d double itself in a year.’ He had the full force of his hard brown stare on her. She was bashfully languishing, like a peasant girl. She tore her gaze away from his face, to say almost absently: ‘I told your friend. I told him for you. You’ve got a flat with us.’

      ‘Yes, I have,’ I said. Flo was again looking up into his face. ‘Dan’d know best,’ she said. ‘You must talk to Dan.’

      ‘I’ll talk it over with him. But I want you to talk it over with him first, Mrs Bolt. You’ve got a real head for business, I can see at a glance.’

      ‘Well, dear, I ran a restaurant over in Holborn right through the war, dear. I ought to know my way about. A real big restaurant. I had three girls working for me. Dan was in the navy. But I did all right, I can tell you.’

      ‘I’m sure you did, Mrs Bolt. Ah yes, the war was a difficult time.’

      ‘We carried on and did our best.’

      ‘Excuse me,’ I said, and began to go upstairs. Instantly Mr MacNamara came after me.

      ‘There’s a little matter we should discuss,’ he said.

      ‘But she’s fixed up, dear. Ever so nice, with us.’

      ‘Four rooms, kitchen and bath and a telephone, three and a half a week.’ I came downstairs again. ‘And there’s another matter.’

      ‘Can we see it now?’

      ‘I’ll take you.’

      I said to Flo: ‘If I can get it, I will. I really do need more room, you know.’

      She nodded, her eyes, now thoughtful, on Mr MacNamara.

      We two went to the door, and I heard her shrieking as we went out: Rose. Dan. Rose. Dan . . .

      ‘You know Miss Jennings?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so.’

      ‘You’ll meet her,’ he said darkly. ‘You mustn’t believe all you hear.’

      ‘Rose Jennings?’

      ‘People are not to be trusted. Not since the war.’

      Now he had me on the pavement, he was thinking out his tactics, while making a pretence at examining his watch. ‘My man won’t be in for fifteen minutes. I’ll take you to a pub near here. The best pub in London. They have nothing but vintage beers.’

      ‘That would be nice.’

      He began walking me fast down the street, into an area that had been laid flat. About five acres of earth had been cleared of rubble, and was waiting for the builders. ‘Nice job, that,’ said Mr MacNamara, nodding at it. ‘One bomb – did the lot. All that damage. Nice work.’

      We walked past it. Mr MacNamara began sending me furtive glances, sideways.

      ‘Know where you are?’ he asked casually.

      I had, because Rose had walked me past here, but I said, ‘No, I’ve no idea.’ His furtiveness cleared into triumph and he said: ‘These bombed areas are confusing.’ We had now walked three sides of the square, and he hesitated. ‘It’s not so far now,’ he said, and turned to complete the fourth side, which would take us back to our starting point at the bottom of the street the house was in. I walked willingly beside him, feeling him watch me. He was anxious. We had now made the full square, and he said: ‘Now do you know where you are?’ For a moment I did not answer; and at once a baffled angry look filled his eyes. His body was tense with violence. Nothing was more important to him, just then, than that I should not have seen through his trick.

      ‘It seems miles,’ I said.

      ‘That’s because you don’t know the ropes,’ he said, relaxing, the violence all gone. ‘Seen that building before?’ – pointing to a house a couple of hundred yards away from Flo’s and Dan’s house.

      ‘They all seem alike,’ I said.

      He nodded. ‘Mind you, I’ve been thinking, it might not be possible for you to see that flat this evening. But I’ll telephone to make sure.’ He strode into a telephone box, and went through the motions of telephoning. He emerged with a brisk air. ‘My client isn’t in, after all.’

      ‘That seems a pity.’

      ‘I’ll take you for the drink I promised, in any case.’ He applied a tender pressure to my upper arm; but lost interest in the gesture almost at once; his face was already dark with another pressure.

      ‘I’m taking you to this pub,’ he said, ‘because it’s famous.’

      We went into a glossy lounge bar, and he said casually to the barman: ‘I’ll have two of the usual.’

      ‘What’s your usual?’ said the barman.

      ‘I’m used to service,’ he began, but the barman had turned away, as if accidentally, to serve someone else. Mr MacNamara took me to a free corner table, and said, ‘This is the best firm in England. Their liquors are all vintage. You know what vintage is?’

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