Anna could not prevent herself giving him a sharp glance — she suspected he had said this so that she should in fact tell Molly what he had said, so as to hurt her. But on his face was the patient, earnest, inward-looking stare of his introspection. Anna could feel, however, a wave of hysteria rise in herself; and knew it reflected his; and searched wildly for words which could check him. She saw him turn his heavy head on the pivot of his thick short neck and look at her notebooks lying exposed on the trestle; and thought: Good Lord, I hope he hasn’t come here to talk about them? About me? She said quickly: ‘I think you’re making your father out to be much more simple than he is. I don’t think he has an undivided mind: he once said being a big businessman these days was like being a rather superior office boy. And you forget that in the’ thirties he had a spell of being a communist, and he was even a bit of a bohemian for a while.’

‘And his way of remembering that now is to have affairs with his secretaries — that’s his way of persuading himself he’s not just an ordinary respectable cog in the middle-class wheel.’ This came out shrill and revengeful, and Anna thought: That’s what he has come to talk about. She felt relief.

Tommy said: ‘After I went to my father’s office this afternoon I went down to see Marion. I just wanted to see her. I usually see her in our house. She was drunk, and those kids were pretending not to notice it. She was talking about my father and his secretary and they were pretending not to know what she was talking about.’ Now he waited for her to say something, leaning forward, his eyes slitted in accusation. When she did not speak, he said: ‘Well, why don’t you say what you think? I know you despise my father. It’s because he’s not a good man.’

At the word good, Anna involuntarily laughed, and saw his frown. She said: ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not a word I use.’

‘Why not? It’s what you mean? My father’s ruined Marion and he’s ruining those children. Well, isn’t he? Well, you’re not going to say it’s Marion’s fault?’

‘Tommy, I don’t know what to say — you come here, and I know you want me to say things that make sense. But I simply don’t know …’

Tommy’s pale sweating face was deadly earnest, and his eyes shone with sincerity. But with something else — in them was a gleam of the spiteful satisfaction; he was convicting her of failing him; and pleased that she was failing him. Again he turned his head and looked at the notebooks. Now, thought Anna; now I must say what he wants to hear. But before she could think, he had got up and walked over to the notebooks. Anna tensed herself and sat quiet; she could not endure that anyone should see those notebooks and yet she felt that Tommy had a right to see them: but she could not have explained why. He stood with his back to her, looking down at the notebooks. Then he turned his head and said: ‘Why do you have four notebooks?’