'I want to see her. Not at my house. Preferably at her flat or wherever she lives.'

'Just like you wanted to see me?'

'No,' said Gunnar, 'not just like that.'

'What makes you think she isn't married and living in New Zealand?'

'I found her name in the London telephone book.'

I was silent for a moment or two. He was examining his hands. I said, 'I'll ask her.'

'Will you? That's good of you. And let me know by letter one way or the other, either in the office or at Cheyne Walk. I am free on Wednesday evening, or next Monday.'

'I'll let you know.'

'Thank you.'

The words were dismissive. I stood a moment, then, as he still did not look at me, I turned on my heel to go. I stopped at the door. 'By the way, I have sent in my letter of resignation.'

'That's good. It remains for me to repeat my good wishes and say good-bye again.'

'Good-bye.' I went out.

I hurried straight on downstairs and out of the office, once more coatless. The east wind was cutting through the yellowish murk. I reached a brightly lit telephone box.

'Crystal. Hello. It's me again. It seems to be telephone day.'

'Hello, my dear.'

'Crystal, listen. I've seen Gunnar.'

Silence.

'Listen, he wants to see you.'

Silence.

'He says briefly and just once. Shall I tell him to go to hell?'

'Did you talk about - ?'

'No, of course not. He didn't say anything and neither did I. But, Crystal, darling, you don't have to see him. I felt I had to tell you, it would have been wrong not to, but really there's no point, is there, and it would upset you - '

'Does she know?'

'No, she doesn't know.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. She said - Never mind, I'm sure. And Gunnar doesn't want you to come to his house, he'd come to you.'

'He'd come here?'

'Yes, why not, he's not God. But really I think - '

'Yes, I'll see him.'

'Crystal, you don't have to - '

'I want to. When will he come?'

'Oh Christ. He said would Wednesday evening - or next Monday - '

'Tell him Wednesday.'

'But you're seeing me on Wednesday.'

'I must see him, darling - and I couldn't wait till Monday - I'd like to see him - the earliest he can come - '

'Oh, all right. I hope you know what you're doing. I'll say between seven and eight on Wednesday.'

I rang off and stood rigid and paralysed in the lighted box until an impatient person waiting outside began to tap on the window. Ought I to have told her?

I went slowly back to the office. There was an official letter accepting my resignation with regret and pointing out that since I was under fifty I would forfeit my pension rights. I wrote a note to Gunnar giving Crystal's address and saying she would see him on Wednesday between seven and eight. Reggie and Edith were playing battleships. Out of sheer kindness of heart they asked me if I would like to play. I must have been looking terrible.

At five o'clock I left the building. The cold yellow day, which had never had any real daylight in it, was thickening into a misty fog. Great waves of gauzy yellow obscurity were rolling in from the river. I was beginning to walk along with the usual mob in the direction of Westminster station when I became aware that I was being followed by Biscuit. When I reached Parliament Square corner, instead of turning towards the station I crossed the traffic onto the big island in the middle of the square where the statues are. I walked along, away from Churchill, and sat down on a seat at the far end, opposite Big Ben, underneath the statue of Dizzy (I always loved Dizzy because of Mr Osmand). For a moment I thought that this manoeuvre might have lost me Biscuit, but she appeared, padding through the gloom, and sat down beside me. The traffic encircled us, the fog hid us, nobody was near. Big Ben struck the quarter hour. I gave a groan and put my arms around Biscuit and laid my head on her shoulder, nuzzling beneath the dropped hood of her duffle coat, feeling with my cheek through the rough material the frail prominence of her collar bone.

'Biscuit, I'm done for, I can't stand it any longer, they're killing me.'

'No, no - '

'I've even lost my job. Look, Biscuit, how much do you really know about this business?'

'Nothing. How can I, I am a servant. But won't you tell me? Perhaps I could help you.'

'I'm a servant too. Maybe I could get a job as a butler. Perhaps Lady Kitty would take me on.'

'Please tell me, Hilary.'

'I bet you know all about it, you secretive oriental girl. Why are you here anyway? I thought we'd said good-bye.'

'I've brought you a letter.'

'Oh no!'

'Here.' She brought the envelope out of her pocket and thrust it into my hand. Kitty's writing.

'Look, Biscuit, you stay here, will you? I'll just take a turn and read this.'

I left her and walked away along the path. Big Ben's bright hazy face said five-twenty. I stopped beside some gloomy bushes with seemingly black leaves which stirred a little in the wind, dripping water. A lamp across the garden gave a little light. I opened Kitty's letter.

That meeting you had with Gunnar was no good at all, it was worse than useless. I listened at the door, I hope you don't mind. It has not helped him at all, he is absolutely wild as if he might go mad. You must see him again, you simply must, and you must not let him run the conversation, you must somehow break him down. I am very upset. I will explain. Please come to Cheyne Walk at six on Thursday. Gunnar will be elsewhere. Do nothing until you have seen me.

K.J.

I put the letter away and raised my face to Big Ben, and Big Ben shone upon it. London, which had been an inert listless noisy mass of senseless dark misery about me was suddenly taut, humming, clarified. There was a road again from me to Kitty. She needed me. I would see her again. I would see Gunnar again. All would yet be well.

I walked slowly back to where Biscuit was sitting, legs outstretched, hands in pockets, gazing expressionlessly at the moving mass of passing cars. She turned and looked at me as I sat down. She had put her hood up again. 'You are pleased with your letter.'

'Yes.'

'You look quite different.'

'Yes. Tell her - just - that I will come.'

She began to get up but I pulled her back, and thrust the hood away from her face. In the light of the distant lamp, in the light of Big Ben I saw her pale little face looking up, all wet and glistening with the damp fog. And now suddenly she looked so tired, almost old, a little old woman from the East. I put my arms round her and laid my lips against her cold mouth. Then the next moment she was struggling fiercely in my grasp like a wild animal. Her feet slithered on the wet pavement, she got up, thrusting me away, then as I began to rise and she turned to go she hit me hard across the face. Something struck my coat and fell to the ground at my feet. Then Biscuit was gone.

I sat down again. The blow, though perfectly deliberate, had been mainly the swinging impact of damp duffle coat sleeve, rather resembling the proverbial slap in the face with a wet fish. I began to peer at the ground to see what it was that had fallen. There was nothing there but a stone. I picked it up. A blackish smooth elliptical stone. I stared at it. It was the stone which I had given to Biscuit in the Leningrad garden, years and years ago, on the first occasion when we met. I put it in my pocket. I pondered. I found myself, for some reason or other, thinking about Tommy. There was no doubt that I was a failure. I had been cruel to Tommy. I had lost my job. Biscuit had slapped me. Possibly, to leave aside more serious failings, I was a cad. But at six o'clock on Thursday Kitty would be waiting for me at Cheyne Walk. I got up and made my way slowly to the station and took the train to Sloane Square and sat in the bar. After a whisky and ginger ale peace descended. I had an occupation: counting the hours till Thursday evening. I felt almost happy.

It was a little more than an hour later and I was inserting my key in the door at the flat in Lexham Gardens. The heavens might be falling and the earth cracking but it was Monday and Clifford Larr would be waiting for me and the table would be set for supper.

I opened the door. The table was set. Clifford was in the kitchen stirring something.

'Hello, darling.'

'Hello,' I said, taking off my overcoat.

'Is your cold better?'

'What cold?'

'The one you allegedly had last Monday.'

'Oh that. What's for supper?'

'Lentil soup. Chicken casserole. Stilton cheese.'

'Good.'

'Tell me something.'

'What?'

'Anything. I'm bored.'

'A girl just slapped my face.'

'Excellent. Tommy?'

'No. Lady Kitty's maid.'

'You are in, aren't you, having your face slapped by the maid. I suppose you tried to kiss her?'

'Yes.'

'You behave like a lout. I suppose it is early conditioning. What does Lady Kitty think?'

'She doesn't know.'

'What makes you imagine that?'

What indeed? Did Biscuit tell Kitty of my stupid kisses? I was surrounded by terrible dangerous mysteries. I felt exasperated, frightened shame. 'That's all I'm fit for, kissing maids behind bushes and getting slapped. I've resigned my job.'

Clifford whistled thoughtfully on three notes, still stirring. 'Why?'

'Gunnar.'

'You've seen him again, since our talk in the park on Wednesday.'

'Yes. I saw him yesterday.'

'And he told you to leave the office?'

'More or less. It's not a bit like you thought.' I poured myself out a glass of sherry and sat down on my usual chair.

'Didn't you have a touching reconciliation after all?'

'No.'

'A fight?'

'No.'

'Then what on earth?'

'We had a clinical interview.'

'I am fascinated. Describe it.'

'Never boring, am I. Can I have some of those nuts?'

'Yes, but not too many. Go on.'

'He hates me,' I said, 'and it's, for him, not part of the treatment to stop doing so. That's just the thing I didn't foresee. Like you, I thought it would be either a reconciliation or a fight. And as I don't think he's a complete fool I imagined that if he asked to see me it would be for some sort of reconciliation.'

'You didn't say that on Wednesday.'

'Like you, I don't always say what I think.'