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widened. ‘Power of attorney? But that’s only for people who’ve lost their reason. Montague’s only a bit vague.’
    ‘He is now.’ Hettie’s voice fell further so that Dilys had to lean forward to hear what she was saying. ‘But what if he gets worse? If he refuses to talk to us about money matters now and then becomes senile later . . . Do you see what I mean? We should bear it in mind for the future.’
    ‘But only if it becomes necessary.’ Dilys regarded her anxiously. ‘There’s been none of that in our family. Loss of reason, I mean – unless it has been kept from us. Hushed up, so to speak and I don’t think it has.’
    ‘“ None of that ”. For heaven’s sake, Dilys, I’m not suggesting Montague’s going to go out of his mind but . . . he might just get a little confused as he gets older and too confused to handle the money properly. Albert will never want to admit such a thing if he did but you and I might need to keep an eye on the situation. We ought to be ready if . . . if he ever asks for our help.’
    ‘But if he’s confused, he won’t know he needs help!’
    ‘Exactly!’ Hettie helped herself to the last cucumber sandwich and eyed her sister knowingly.
    Slowly Dilys nodded. ‘We’ll just bear it in mind,’ she said uneasily, ‘as a possibility.’
    Hettie nodded toward the cake stand. ‘You choose first,’ she offered.
    After a moment or two, while they ate in silence, Dilys said, ‘Do you remember when Cressida’s Aunt Maude was ill and she had to go out to Switzerland to look after her? I always thought it was all rather secretive. You don’t think her Aunt Maude lost her reason, do you? Montague might have kept it from us. Cressida rarely spoke about her trip when she returned and she did seem rather quiet.’
    Hettie hesitated. ‘I don’t think so. I’m sure Montague would have told Albert. They’ve always been close.’
    ‘Close? How can you say that? To my way of thinking they have always been very competitive.’
    ‘Well, you have known them longer than I have but I feel Montague would have confided in his brother.’
    ‘Then why not in me? I’m his sister!’
    ‘He did confide in you, if you recall – and in me and in Albert. He told us her Aunt Maude had gone into an “emotional decline” over a rather awful fellow. A climber. It was a clear case of unrequited love. Poor old Maude! But then, Cressida was only a Pennington by marriage and she had no children so even if there had been . . . instability of mind, it was never passed on.’
    Dilys reached for a Bakewell tart. ‘This will have to be my last or I shan’t want any supper tonight.’ Feeling that they had probably said enough about family matters she changed the subject. ‘We’re running another soup kitchen tomorrow evening and I’m contributing two quarts of ham broth with barley and that means an early start to get the ham bones simmering. So much of the goodness is in the marrow of the bones . . .’
    At seven forty-five a.m. the following day the queue for the soup stretched outside the military Drill Hall and ten yards round the corner. It consisted of out of work men, homeless men, a few con men, probably more than one petty criminal and a sprinkling of destitute women – some with children and some alone. The ages ranged from an eleven-year-old runaway girl to an eighty-year-old man who moved at a snail’s pace on two improvised crutches.
    Dilys, standing inside the door, resplendent in an expensive apron, regarded them with compassion mixed with disgust. She headed the long trestle table and in front of her she commanded the large cooking pan which contained the ham broth she had made earlier. The alternative was vegetable stew.
    Beside her Marguerite Wilson, ensconced behind a pile of roughly cut bread, sighed with exasperation and said in a low voice, ‘How on earth do they allow themselves to become so dirty. A good wash would improve them and they would feel so