‘An extraordinary woman she must be,’ said Julia. ‘Does he talk about her?’

‘He said, they got married too young. And then he went off to the war, and when he came back, he felt a stranger to her. And as far as I can make out, he’s done nothing but have love affairs ever since.’

‘It doesn’t sound too good,’ said Julia. ‘What do you feel for him?’ At the moment, Ella felt nothing but a cold hurt despair. For the life of her she could not reconcile their happiness and what she called his cynicism. She was in something like a panic. Julia was examining her, shrewdly. ‘I thought, the first time I saw him, he’s got such a tight miserable face.’ ‘He’s not at all miserable,’ said Ella quickly. Then, seeing her instinctive and unreasoning defence of him, she laughed at herself and said: ‘I mean, yes, there is that in him, a sort of bitterness. But there’s his work and he likes it. He rushes from hospital to hospital, and tells marvellous stories about it all, and then the way he talks about his patients — he really cares. And then with me, at night, and he never seems to need to sleep.’ Ella blushed, conscious that she was boasting. ‘Well, it’s true,’ she said, watching Julia’s smile. ‘And then off he rushes in the morning, after practically no sleep, to pick up a shirt and presumably have a nice little chat with his wife about this and that. Energy. Energy is not being miserable. Or even bitter, if it comes to that. The two things aren’t connected.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Julia. ‘In that case you’d better wait and see what happens, hadn’t you?’

That night Paul was humorous and very tender. It’s as if he’s apologizing, Ella thought. Her pain melted. In the morning she found herself restored to happiness. He said, as he dressed: ‘I can’t see you tonight, Ella.’ She said, without fear: ‘Well, that’s all right.’ But he went on, laughing: ‘After all, I’ve got to see my children sometime.’ It sounded as if he were accusing her of having deliberately kept him from them. ‘But I haven’t stopped you,’ said Ella. ‘Oh, yes you have, you have,’ he said, half-singing it. He kissed her lightly, laughing, on the forehead. That’s how he kissed his other women, she thought, when he left them for good. Yes. He didn’t care about them, and he laughed and kissed them on the forehead. And suddenly a picture came into her mind, at which she stared, astonished. She saw him putting money on to a mantelpiece. But he was not — that she knew — the sort of man who would pay a woman. Yet she could see him, clearly, putting money on a mantelpiece. Yes. It was somewhere implicit in his attitude. And to her, Ella. But what’s that got to do with all these hours we’ve been together, when every look and move he’s made told me he loved me? (For the fact that Paul had told her, again and again, that he loved her, meant nothing, or rather would have meant nothing if it had not been confirmed by how he touched her, and the warmth of his voice.) And now, leaving, he remarked, with his small bitter grimace: ‘And so you’ll be free tonight, Ella.’ ‘What do you mean, free?’ ‘Oh … for your other boy-friends, you’ve been neglecting them, haven’t you?’