‘Oh, don’t say that. I’ve had such a strange dream, and unfortunately you weren’t in it.’ She stepped back to allow him in, and he walked as so often before into her living-room, where the fire had been kindled long enough to have reached a cheerful red glow. The curtains were drawn and there was one lamp on in the corner, so that the shabby furniture gleamed and winked like conspirators out of the friendly gloom. It was all so different from the neat brightness of the Ruislip house. Here there might be dust in the corners, but the baggy chesterfield opened its arms to you like a dear old mum, and the house rule was that it was pleasure that came next to godliness. She followed him in and he turned to her. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. I didn’t mean to get off to such a bad start.’ She raised an eyebrow at the word ‘start’, but said, ‘It’s all right. You don’t need to explain – I’m an old hand at this game, remember.’ ‘Which game?’ he asked nervously, thinking of Mrs Goodwin.
