‘Oh, I simply can’t think. When I really want to depress myself, I think of all the brilliant men I know, married to their stupid wives. Enough to break your heart, it really is. So there is stupid ordinary Marion. And of course Richard was faithful to her just as long as most men are, that is, until she went into the nursing home for her first baby.’

‘Why do you have to go so far back?’ exclaimed Richard involuntarily, as if this had been a serious conversation, and again both women broke into fits of laughter.

Molly broke it, and said seriously, but impatiently: ‘Oh hell, Richard, why talk like an idiot? You do nothing else but feel sorry for yourself because Marion is your Achilles heel, and you say why go so far back?’ She snapped at him, deadly serious, accusing: ‘When Marion went into the nursing home.’

‘It was thirteen years ago,’ said Richard, aggrieved.

‘You came straight over to me. You seemed to think I’d fall into bed with you, you were even all wounded in your masculine pride because I wouldn’t. Remember? Now we free women know that the moment the wives of our men friends go into the nursing home, dear Tom, Dick and Harry come straight over, they always want to sleep with one of their wives’ friends, God knows why, a fascinating psychological fact among so many, but it’s a fact. I wasn’t having any, so I don’t know who you went to …’

‘How do you know I went to anyone?’

‘Because Marion knows. Such a pity how these things get round. And you’ve had a succession of girls ever since, and Marion has known about them all, since you have to confess your sins to her. There wouldn’t be much fun in it, would there, if you didn’t?’

Richard made a movement as if to get up and go — Anna saw his thigh muscles tense, and relax. But he changed his mind and sat still. There was a curious little smile pursing his mouth. He looked like a man determined to smile under the whip.

‘In the meantime Marion brought up three children. She was very unhappy. From time to time you let it drop that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she got herself a lover — even things up a bit. You even suggested she was such a middle-class woman, so tediously conventional …’ Molly paused at this, grinning at Richard. ‘You are really such a pompous little hypocrite,’ she said, in an almost friendly voice. Friendly with a sort of contempt. And again Richard moved his limbs uncomfortably, and said, as if hypnotized, ‘Go on.’ Then, seeing that this was rather asking for it, he said hastily: ‘I’m interested to hear how you’d put it.’