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acquaintance firmed up. Maurice would cross the room to talk to Pauline if he caught sight of her at social gatherings. They had a drink together once or twice. Pauline invited Maurice to a New Year’s Eve party.
    Those of Maurice’s circle who knew him well enough to be aware of the usual sequence of events were astonished to learn that he was going to marry Teresa. A period of cohabitation was the normal thing. Why marry her? they wondered. A delightful girl, to be sure. But marriage? Maurice – marrying?
    Pauline was of his circle, in that sense.
    ‘Why?’ she said to Teresa, clenched in disbelief and dismay. ‘Why get
married
?’
    ‘I’m in love with him,’ said Teresa, incandescent with happiness.
    ‘Think about it for a bit,’ wailed Pauline.
    ‘You can’t think when you’re in love,’ said Teresa, reasonably enough.
    There is nothing inherently dangerous about marrying a man fifteen years older than yourself. If you fall deeply in love, and find to your delight and amazement that your love is apparently returned, then if marriage is proposed that seems a natural step.
    Luke is wriggling now, aware perhaps of Maurice’s uncertain grip. Maurice puts him down and he potters off to investigate a clump of grass. He picks something up and puts it in his mouth. Pauline intervenes, extracts a twig from Luke’s pink maw. Maurice looks on benignly. Maurice loves Luke – in his way. But it has to be said that what Maurice feels for Luke bears little resemblance to what Pauline feels for Teresa, or to what Teresa feels for Luke. Luke is something that has happened to Maurice along the way. Maurice is pleased enough that Luke happened. He finds Luke engaging. He would be much concerned if Luke were seriously ill, or hurt. If Luke died Maurice would be deeply shaken. But on the Richter scale of parental commitment Maurice only gets up to about three points.
    Fortunate Maurice, one may think.
    ‘Have you ever been to Bradley Castle?’ says Maurice.
    ‘Certainly not,’ Pauline replies. Bradley Castle is a sixteenth-century pile some ten miles away which has been reinvented as a theme park. It offers the Robin Hood Experience, along with jousting matches, falconry displays and medieval banquets on Saturday nights.
    ‘I thought we might all go there this weekend.’
    Pauline raises her eyebrows. ‘I can think of better ways to entertain your visitors.’
    ‘I’m getting too detached,’ says Maurice. ‘I need to get my sights on a few real tourists.’
    ‘Ah. I see. The book.’ This expedition, Pauline perceives, is not to do with amusing Maurice’s guests but is in the service of a preoccupation of Maurice’s.
    Maurice’s egotism is not overly apparent. He is not conspicuously self-absorbed. He does not talk all that much about himself or his concerns. Indeed, he probes other people about theirs. He will interrogate, with that aloof, amused expression: ‘Why do you think that?’ ‘What made you do that?’ Maurice’s egotism is the more subtle version – that of implacable purpose. Only when you know Maurice well – when
you have had occasion to observe his habits over time – only then do you see that he practises a system of relentless manipulation. All those in his orbit do what Maurice requires that they should do, to the greater convenience of Maurice. It is a brilliant operation.
    ‘Count me out,’ says Pauline.
    Maurice considers her. He looks at her quizzically. ‘We need you, Pauline,’ he says. ‘And you might enjoy it – who can tell?’
    ‘I’ll see. When the time comes.’
    Maurice grins. ‘What a sternly independent woman you are. Have you always been like that?’
    His question is not a casual one. He is interested. And Pauline is not going to reply, because the answer would be revealing, and she does not care to reveal herself to Maurice. Instead, she turns to Luke. She shows him how to blow the down from a dandelion clock. Maurice watches for a few moments. He finishes