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    He turned back again in the direction of his car and I followed. ‘Bloody nightmare.’ He was talking to himself.
    I called out over the din. ‘Tony. Tell me!’
    ‘Aren’t you pleased? Last night we had our worst row in twenty-five years. Aren’t you excited by your success?’
    Even I, inexperienced and baffled and horrified as I was, could sense the absurdity of this. He was going to tell me in his own way, so I said nothing and waited. We walked back past his car and the closed-up kiosk. To our right was a hedge of high dusty hawthorns. Gaily coloured sweet wrappers and crisp packets were trapped in the spiky branches. There was a used condom, ridiculously long, lying on the grass. A fine place to end an affair.
    ‘Serena, how could you be so stupid?’
    I did feel stupid. We stopped again and I said in a quavering voice I couldn’t control, ‘I honestly don’t understand.’
    ‘You wanted her to find your blouse. Well, she found your blouse. You thought she’d be furious and you were right. You thought you could break up my marriage and move in but you were wrong.’
    The injustice of this overwhelmed me and it was hard to speak. Somewhere just behind and above the root of my tongue my throat was beginning to tighten. In case there were tears I turned away quickly. I didn’t want him to see.
    ‘Of course, you’re young and all that. But you should be ashamed.’
    When I found it, I hated my croaky pleading voice. ‘Tony, you said to put it in your laundry basket.’
    ‘Come on now. You know I said nothing of the sort.’
    He said it gently, almost lovingly, like a caring father, one I was about to lose. We should have been having a row, bigger than any he’d ever had with Frieda, I should have been flying at him. But inconveniently I thought I was about to start crying and I was determined not to. I don’t cry easily, and when I do I want to be alone. But that soft plummy voice of authority pierced me. It was so confident and kind that I was close to believing it. I already sensed I could never alter his recollection of the previous Sunday or prevent him from dismissing me. I also knew I was in danger of behaving as though I was guilty. Like a shoplifter, crying with relief at being caught. So unfair, so hopeless. I couldn’t speak to make my case. Those hours of waiting by the phone and the sleepless night had undone me. The back of my throat went on tightening, other muscles lower down my neck joined in, tugging at my lips, trying to stretch them over my teeth. Something was going to snap, but I couldn’t let it, not in front of him. Not when he was so wrong. The only way to hold it down and keep my dignity was to remain silent. To speak would have been to let go. And I was desperate to speak. I needed to tell him how unjust he was being, how he wasrisking everything between us for a lapse in memory. It was one of those familiar occasions when the mind wants one thing, the body another. Like wanting sex during an exam, or being sick at a wedding. The more I struggled in silence to stay on top of my feelings, the more I hated myself and the calmer he became.
    ‘It was underhand, Serena. I thought you were better than that. I don’t find this easy to say, but I’m deeply disappointed.’
    He went on in this way while I remained with my back turned. How he had trusted me, encouraged me, had high hopes for me, and I had let him down. It must have been easier for him, talking to the back of my head, not having to look me in the eye. I was beginning to suspect that this was not about a simple mistake, a commonplace failure of memory in a busy, important older man. I thought I saw it all plainly enough. Frieda had come back early from Vienna. For some reason, perhaps a nasty hunch, she had gone out to the cottage. Or they had gone there together. In the bedroom was my laundered blouse. Then came the scene in Suffolk or London, and her ultimatum – get rid of the girl, or march. So Tony had made