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hammer, making the stucco fly. Then he took the pieces
into the scullery.
’We’ll burn that tomorrow,’ he said. ‘There’s too much
plaster-moulding on it.’
Having cleared away, he sat down.
’Did you love your wife?’ she asked him.
’Love?’ he said. ‘Did you love Sir Clifford?’
But she was not going to be put off.
’But you cared for her?’ she insisted.
’Cared?’ He grinned.
’Perhaps you care for her now,’ she said.
’Me!’ His eyes widened. ‘Ah no, I can’t think of her,’ he
said quietly.
’Why?’
But he shook his head.
’Then why don’t you get a divorce? She’ll come back to
you one day,’ said Connie.
He looked up at her sharply.
’She wouldn’t come within a mile of me. She hates me a
lot worse than I hate her.’
’You’ll see she’ll come back to you.’
’That she never will. That’s done! It would make me sick
to see her.’
’You will see her. And you’re not even legally separated,
are you?’
’No.’
’Ah well, then she’ll come back, and you’ll have to take
her in.’
He gazed at Connie fixedly. Then he gave the queer toss