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he felt about Alison. He loved her and he was almost sure that he wanted to marry her: but not yet . If he talked of love, how could he avoid the subject of marriage? But if he didn’t mention love, how could he contrive to keep her in reserve for the next four or five years?
    â€˜I tried to tell you how I felt about you two years ago,’ he reproached her, ‘but you wouldn’t listen. You didn’t want to know. Don’t you realise how humiliating that was? Can’t you see that I’m wary of expressing myself, this time, because I’m trying to keep a little pride …?’
    It was the corniest of tactics, he knew; but it worked. Alison was remorseful. She put her hand on his, and they moved closer. With the minefield safely negotiated, he began to talk again about the advantages – the desirability – of living together. Alison seemed to concur, though the memory of Gavin Jackson’s behaviour made her understandably hesitant.
    â€˜I’m talking about a serious long-term commitment,’ Tait said, seeking to reassure her. ‘That’s what it would be on my side, anyway. On yours too, I hope?’
    She frowned. ‘Commitment? That’s not a word I expected you to use. I’d want you to be serious about it, yes, because I’d only consider living with you if I thought it would work as a long-term relationship. But living together can’t ever be any kind of commitment . If it’s commitment you’re after – and don’t mistake me; I’m not proposing to you, just trying to understand your motives – why aren’t we discussing the pros and cons of marriage?’
    God, she was like her father! That same down-to-earth attitude, that same clear insight, bluntly put. But Alison was beautiful with it. Whereas Doug Quantrill’s eyes were the sour green of little apples, his daughter’s had the soft translucence of peeled grapes. She was honest, generous, intelligent, shyly sensual – a lovely girl. And yes, Tait definitely did want to marry her. Eventually.
    He held both her hands and told her so, explaining about the problem of money. So many men, he said, married too early in their careers. He’d seen it happen to most of his friends from school and university. As long as the couple remained childless, they could live well on their combined salaries; but as soon as they started a family, the husband’s income was inadequate to maintain their standard of living, and the wife and children suffered. And he, Martin Tait, was determined not to marry until he had an income large enough to support his family in considerable comfort.
    That was what he told Alison. So far as it went, it was true. What he didn’t add was that he’d seen too many good men’s lives spoiled: all the pleasures of their young manhood, their interests, their ambitions, subordinated to mortgage repayments, pregnant wives and sticky-fingered brats. In his private opinion, that was one good reason why a lot of men tried to opt out of their marriages in middle age. Not because they were seeking to recapture their lost youth, but because they’d never given themselves the chance to enjoy it in the first place. And he intended to enjoy his youth to the full.
    â€˜You do see what I mean?’ he said, deploying his arguments. ‘I very much want to settle down and have children. That’s what marriage is about, ultimately, isn’t it? But you’ve only just started your career in radio. You told me a few minutes ago how much you’re enjoying it. So what kind of a pig would you think me if I were to say, “Scrap all that, Alison. Marry me and start a family instead”? You’d tell me to shove off, wouldn’t you?’
    She retrieved her hand, pulled a blade of grass and looked at it intently. ‘I’m not sure what I’d say … I can tell you now that I wouldn’t dream of scrapping my