Not that Harriet was essentially an angry person. She was, she liked to think, mostly easygoing. But, as everyone does, she had her moments. And these ‘moments’ tended to arise where her father was concerned. Harriet’s mother had departed life when her only child was sixteen. She had died under an anaesthetic during a quite ordinary procedure and Harriet had sometimes wondered if her mother had done it as a last resort, having tried, and failed, to leave her husband by less drastic means. Her mother had twice before attempted to escape the marital home: once in a solitary dash for liberty and once on the arm of the owner of a Turkish restaurant, who had promised the earth, or at least to provide for her in Tooting. But despite the restaurateur’s forceful demeanour and material advantages – the restaurant had been doing well – the liaison had not been proof against the remedial effects of Harriet’s father’s disconcerting charm. The charm, as charm generally is, was ephemeral.
