‘Yes, Martin. I’ll come.’
‘You must come.’
‘I’d love to.’
To see one of the circle detached and against a separate background of home and parents would be interesting: though, alas, Martin’s father had died. It was he who had been brother to Mariella’s mother, and to the father of Julian and Charlie, and of Roddy. Martin’s mother was quite external.... Still, there might be portraits, photographs, all sorts of family things....
She detached her hand from his, and started to run.
The train was not even signalled yet. In five minutes she could be with Roddy. She would make some excuse—say she had left something. She could reckon on a clear quarter of an hour at least in which to see him, tell him she was sorry, tell him ... and quickly go away again.
She knocked on the sitting-room door.
‘Come in,’ said a cross voice.
‘Roddy,’ she said timidly, standing at the door. ‘I’ve come to see you. Just to ask how you are. Only for a minute. Am I disturbing you?’
‘Oh, come in, Judy.’ His voice was polite and surprised.