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grieving. It was his duty to open the door to them, but the doctor had stridden ahead. Guessing this, Amy patted his arm as she passed him, though she did not like to touch him. They went into the sitting-room.
    The fire was crackling away. On a low table was a tray with drinks, and another of sandwiches which Ernie had cut into fancy shapes, perhaps to take his mind off other things, or to express sympathy. He had gone to a lot of trouble.
    Gareth took off Amy’s coat and handed it to Ernie. He put her into a chair by the fire, smoothed her hair back, tilted up her chin. “Let’s have a look at you,” he said.
    “I don’t want anyone to look at me.” So many tears, so many dabbings with soaking handkerchiefs, had made her face red and shiny. All the same she had a rather unsuitable glow about her from foreign sun.
    James and Ernie were now carrying in the suitcases. It was in another world that she had packed them.
    “Oh, I’m so tired,” she said.
    “Of course.”
    He poured out a drink and handed it to her, and she seemed to apply herself to drinking it, like an obedient child. When she put down the glass, he knelt by her, chafing her hands. Going bald, she thought, looking down at him. Once was handsome. All the women in love with him. She withdrew her hands from his.
    “Won’t you have a drink?” she asked.
    He got up and helped himself to whisky. “I’ve given Ernie some tablets for you. You’re to have two when you go to bed. No more.”
    She thought of going to bed on her own. Many years since she had done that in this house, except when Nick was in hospital.
    “And I’ll come round in the morning when surgery’s over. A drink, James?” he asked as the door opened and James came in with rain on his shoulders. Gareth seemed to be being host in Nick’s place – old family friend, who knew where everything was kept.
    “I’ll have some whisky. Mother, are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay?”
    “Quite sure, thank you.”
    “Some young woman very kindly left the ship with her to look after her on the way back,” he told Gareth.
    “I don’t really know her,” Amy said. Martha was now part of the bad dream.
    “I must get her address from the shipping company,” James said.
    “I put the electric fire on in your room, madam,” Ernie opened the door to say.
    “I think you need a drink, too,” James said.
    “A small glass of sherry would do no harm.”
    “You must go, James,” said Amy. “You’ve had a long day, and Maggie will be worried.”
    “No, of course she won’t. We’re only worried about you. She’ll be over in the morning when she’s taken Dora to school.”
    So it had been settled all the time that I should come home, Amy thought. She knew that bereaved people are a great burden to others – no-one finding words to say, or ways to behave. There had only been Martha, going on in her unexpected, unco-ordinated manner, pressing those figs on her when she could scarcely swallow her tears, making strange conversations on the plane, running round Istanbul on errands, getting in touch with undertakers.
    Gareth took a sandwich, as if to set an example, and presently chose another of the same kind. “Well, I’m glad you had someone to look after you,” he said. “If I were you, I should take a good hot bath and then your tablets, and not bother your head about things which James and I will see to. We are here to look after you – Ernie, too, of course.”
    “It was good of you to come, Gareth,” Amy said. Her voice was perfunctory, like a child’s after a party, saying “Thank you for having me.”
    “Well…” He hesitated, lingered, and at last went. Then she said, “Off you go, too, James. There’s no more you can do. The night has to be got over, and no one can help me, but at least I’m in my own home.”
    He bent and kissed her. “But come tomorrow, won’t you?” she added quickly.
    “Without fail, and as I said, Maggie will be here in the