‘Tommy said, your advice would be so useful. And we all three could work together for the common cause.’

Anna, beginning to understand, was angry. She said aloud, drily: ‘Tommy hasn’t used the word “cause” except ironically for years. If he’s using it now then …’

‘But Anna, that sounds so cynical, it doesn’t sound like you at all.’

‘But you forget that all of us, including Tommy, have been plunged in the atmosphere of good causes for years, and I assure you that if we had always used the word with your reverence we would never have got anything done at all.’

Marion stood up. She looked extremely guilty, sly and delighted with herself. Anna now understood that Marion and Tommy had discussed her, and had decided to save her soul. For what? She was quite extraordinarily angry. The anger was out of all proportion to what had actually happened; she knew it; and was all the more frightened.

Marion saw the anger, was both pleased and confused, and now said: ‘I’m so sorry I’ve disturbed you for nothing.’

‘Oh but it wasn’t for nothing. Write a letter to Mr Mathlong, c/o Prison Administration, Northern Province. He won’t get it of course, but it’s the gesture that counts in these matters, isn’t it?’

‘Oh thank you, Anna, you’re so helpful, we knew you would be. And now I must go.’

Marion left, creeping downstairs, in a way that parodied a guilty but defiant little girl’s. Anna watched her and saw herself standing there, on the landing — cool, rigid, critical. Marion having gone out of sight, Anna went to the telephone and rang Tommy.

His voice came slow and formal over the half-mile or so of streets. ‘Double o five six seven?’

‘This is Anna. Marion has just left. Tell me, was it really your idea to adopt African political prisoners as pen-pals? Because if so, I can’t help feeling you are just a bit out of touch?’

A slight pause. ‘I’m glad you rang me, Anna. I think it would be a good thing.’

‘For the poor prisoners?’

‘To be quite frank, I think it would be good for Marion. Don’t you? I think she needs some interest outside herself.’

Anna said: ‘A sort of therapy, you mean?’

‘Yes. Don’t you agree with me?’

‘But Tommy, the point is, I don’t think I need therapy — at least, not this particular kind.’

Tommy said carefully, after a pause: ‘Thanks for ringing me up and giving me your views, Anna. I’m very grateful.’

Anna laughed, angrily. She expected him to laugh with her; but in spite of everything she had been thinking of the old Tommy, who would have laughed. She put down the receiver and stood trembling — she had to sit down.