Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Gold-handled, too. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha.
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