No doubt one of the with-it etiquette books had a section on it. Luckily mourning itself has practically passed away, so delicate questions of full or half-mourning did not present themselves. A sober suit was all that could be expected, and as a Lloyd’s broker Derek wore a sober suit every day of his life. Similarly with his behaviour, which in working hours was habitually tinged with gravity, so that he had no difficulty in shaking his head sadly when anyone brought the subject up, or in offering remarks like: ‘It’s Gavin I feel sorry for: only two years married.’ With closer friends he ventured: ‘I often wondered whether she was entirely well when she was married to me.’ Then he would dismiss the matter with another shake of the head: ‘It’s a sad business.’ Inwardly, of course, he was over the moon with delight. He had been married to Anne-Marie for seven years. She had cooked well, both for him and for the little dinner-parties which Derek rather went in for. She had looked decorative at the cocktail-parties they regularly threw, had turned eyes in the stalls at Covent Garden, or at Chichester, where they sometimes drove to take in a play at festival time.
