She was pretty sure he disliked the flat as much as she did but neither of them had, as yet, admitted their dislike aloud. The sitting room, in the early evening light, looked even more cheerless than usual as there were no flowers; and though the large windows gave an impression of airiness it felt airless. She flung the windows open onto the balcony but was not tempted to step out. After two months she still experienced vertigo when on the balcony; and Miles had recently confessed that he did too. It seemed a pity they hadn’t pooled their vertigo before taking a tenth-floor flat. She hoped that Miles was not, as she was, remembering many home-comings to their old Islington house where Mrs Topham would have been on hand to welcome them – beloved Mrs Topham, none too clean but a glorious cook, who had been Miles’s housekeeper long before he married. Alas, their leases on home and help had run out at the same time; the house was now demolished and Mrs Topham had retired on what she called ‘me bits of pensions’ – to which now was added one from Miles.
