Men had often seemed to threaten her, to ask more than she was prepared to give. Life itself had seemed daunting, an insoluble problem which she had to face with no idea where to start. The relief that marriage had brought! The loss of independence had been a price she was happy to pay.

She had forgotten to bring Douglas’s suit. Damn. Still, she would be coming in on Wednesday for the girls’ ballet class and if she took it out of his wardrobe and put it in hers he might never know. As far as Douglas could see if he had asked her once that was more than enough and although he would be quite patient when he discovered her lapse it would have something of the patience of God faced with the foibles of an eternally backsliding humanity. Sometimes, in the early days, she had snarled at him when he began his homilies, but it had never been worth it. He believed he was right, he repeatedly said so, and after a while the whole argument seemed too tedious for words. The result had been a satisfactory compromise, which was after all the basis of most happy marriages. He believed she did just as he said and she made sure he never knew that she did not.

Today the sun was so warm that you could believe it would be summer forever. She wandered up and down the street, vaguely looking for some T-shirts for the girls, but there was nothing but jumpers and woolly tights. Anyway they didn’t really need them, both the children had far more clothes than they could possibly wear. She supposed they were very indulged, but it seemed not to have done them any harm. There were never two such lovely, bouncy, smooth-skinned girls as hers, all hair and giggles, with a sweet politeness of manner that, if she had but known it, was a direct copy of her own. Yes, she was very, very lucky.

The library seemed dark and cool in contrast to the baking pavement outside. These same shelves that she knew so well could still occasion a spark of anticipation, because who knew what might have come home to roost since last she was here? Sarah knew she read too much, Douglas often said so, but then he did not read a great deal himself. The Financial Times and the Economist were his bedtime reading while she devoured everything from the trashiest romance to weighty historical biography. But today there seemed nothing worthy of her attention. It could be like that sometimes, almost as if you were tired of escape and wanted something real to happen, as if you would like it if it did. In the end she took Emma to read yet again, a book on houseplants and some stories for the children. Nothing now to do but make her way home and perhaps think about sunbathing in the garden. And she had neglected her painting recently; perhaps she could start another study of the pool. If she painted outdoors there would be no cloying smell of turpentine for Douglas. It annoyed his sinuses and made him quite miserable.

As she made for the door her eye caught a poster, stylishly drawn, showing a figure seated at an easel. ‘Do you paint?’ it asked. ‘Amateur or would-be professional, this is the course for you. A weekend in the country, expert advice and tuition from established artists. Find out where your art is heading. Enquire at the desk for details.’

A tremor of excitement caught at her throat. The poster seemed to be speaking directly to her.