'Not for the time being.'

'Hang on to it, Bernard. Daddy says it's too big. But it's a sweet little house and you must have a playroom for the children as well as a bedroom. And if nanny didn't have that large bedroom, she'd want a sitting room too.'

'Your father said it was too big because he wants the children with him at Leith Hill.'

'I know. I told him it was a stupid idea.' Her face twitched and for a moment I wondered if she was going to cry but she pushed her knuckle against her face and recovered her composure. 'He'd never tolerate the noise the children make, and can you imagine him playing with them or reading to them at bedtime?'

'No,' I said.

'He just wants the children as ornaments. Just like those suits of armour in the hall, and that ridiculous library, filled with expensive first editions that he never looks at, except when he calls a valuer in to renew the insurance. And then he goes off to tell everyone at his club what a wonderful investment he made.'

'I suppose he has his good points,' I said, more because of the distress she was showing than because I could think of any.

'He keeps them well hidden,' she said, and laughed as if shaking off her sudden bout of sadness. She got to her feet, reached for the champagne bottle and filled her glass and mine before going back to the sofa. Then she slipped off her shoes and, leaning one elbow on the sofa end, tucked her feet under herself.

'Do you want to phone George?' I offered. 'Does he know where you are?'

'The answer is no to both questions,' she said. 'And the answer to the next question is that he doesn't care either.'

'Are things all right between you and George?'

'George doesn't love me any more. George hates me. He's just looking for some way to get rid of me so that he can go off with someone else.'

'Does George have someone else? Does he have affairs?'

'How can I be sure? Sex is like crime. Only one per cent motivation and ninety-nine per cent opportunity.' She drank some wine. 'I can't blame him, can I? I've been the worst wife any man ever had. George always wanted children.' She rummaged through her handbag to get a handkerchief. 'Oh, don't look so alarmed, Bernard. I'm not going to start sobbing or anything.' Despite this assurance she dabbed her eyes and gave every sign of doing so. 'Why did I marry him?'

'Why did you?'

'He asked me. It's as simple as that.'

'I'm sure many other men asked you.'

'George asked me when I was feeling low. He asked me at a time when I suddenly wanted to be married. You wouldn't understand; men never feel like that. Men just get married for peace and comfort. They never feel frightened of not being married the way women do sometimes.'

I was embarrassed by the intensity of her feelings. 'How do you know George has someone else? Has he told you so?'

'A wife doesn't have to be told. It's obvious that he doesn't love me. He has someone else; of course he does.' She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief before looking up at me. She blinked and gave a brave little smile. 'He's taking her off to South Africa.'

'Women always tend to imagine men have other women,' I said. 'If he hasn't mentioned another woman, there possibly isn't one.'

'George might have begun to hate all women. Is that what you mean? Maybe George just wants a bit of peace and quiet away from me? Away from all women. Drinking and laughing with his friends in the car business.'

It was exactly what I thought. 'No,' I said. 'Of course not. But George is very wrapped up in his work. He always has been, you know that. And the economy is still not picking up the way everyone hoped it would. Perhaps he needs to give a lot of thought to his business.'

'You men always stick together.'

'I hardly know George, but he always seemed a decent sort of chap. But you've led him a merry dance, Tess. It can't have been easy for him. I mean you haven't exactly been discreet with these little affairs, have you?'

'And, if you were George, the chance of being in South Africa, a few thousand miles away from me, would be a wonderful opportunity. And certainly not one to be marred by taking a wife along with you. I mean, women are everywhere, aren't they? You can rent them by the hour. Or rent them by the dozen. There are women available from the Arctic to the Pacific, from Persia to Peking.'

'Women are available everywhere,' I said. 'But marriages, reasonably happy marriages, are extremely rare.'

'I've been a fool, Bernard. George has always been a good husband. He's never made a fuss about money, and until last week I never thought of George with other women.'

'What happened last week?'

'Did I tell you he went to Italy, the Ferrari factory, last week? He's been there before and I know the hotel he always stays in. So I phoned them and asked if Mrs Kosinski was staying there. The switchboard girl said Mr and Mrs Kosinski were not in their room but there was another gentleman occupying the second bedroom of the suite if I'd like to speak with him or leave a message with him.'

'And did you speak with this "him"?'

'No, I got scared and rang off.'

'Who was the other man?'

'One of the people from the factory, or perhaps it was George's general manager. He goes along on these trips sometimes.'

'And have you tackled George about it?'

'I tried a little test. He's going to South Africa on some business deal. I've never been to South Africa so I said I'd go with him. He gave me a strange look and said he couldn't change the arrangements, and he is going alone.'

'Is that all?'

'He's going with a woman. Surely that's obvious. He's taking her to South Africa with him.'

'He's always going off on business trips. Are you saying he's always taken women with him?'

'I don't know. I've hardly ever gone with him on a business trip before. It's always so boring to meet all these car salesmen. It was bad enough when he brought them home. All they ever talk about is delivery dates, advertising schedules and profit margins. They never talk about motor cars unless it's rally driving or the Grand Prix. Have you ever been to a motor race, Bernard?'

'I don't think so. I don't remember it.'

'Then you haven't been to one. Because if you'd been to a motor race you'd never forget it. George took me to the Monte Carlo one year. It sounded as if it might be fun. George got a suite at the Hotel de Paris, and a girl I was at school with lives in Monte Carlo with her family. Well, Bernard, I knew I'd done the wrong thing when I phoned my friend and her maid told me that they always leave town when the race is on. Because the noise is deafening and it goes on non-stop day and night. Endless, darling. I put a pillow over my head and screamed.'

'You didn't stay in your hotel room all through the race?'

'I'm not a complete ninny, Bernard. George had the best seats anyone could have. But after the race has been on for ten minutes, there is no way of telling which of the wretched cars is in front and which is at the back. All you see is these stinking little machines driving past you, and you choke on the petrol fumes and get deafened by the noise. And when you try to get back to your hotel you run into the Monaco policemen who are just about the most asinine gorillas in the whole world. It's their big opportunity to scream and shout and push people around and they take full advantage of it. Don't ever go, Bernard, it's absolutely ghastly.'

'I take it that was the last business trip you did with George.'

'And you guessed right, darling.' She looked at me. Her eyes were wide and very blue.

'And now you are convinced that George has found some lady who likes the noise and petrol fumes, and thinks the Monaco police are wonderful.'

'Well, it looks like that, doesn't it? My mother always said I should go with him everywhere. Mummy never lets David out of her sight. She hated the idea of my letting George go away alone. That's always how trouble, starts, my mother says.' Tessa put her face into her hands and wept in a rather restrained way. I felt sorry for her. The weeping was straight out of drama school. But I could see that, beyond the abandoned-little-woman act, she was genuinely distressed.