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mistake; if they hadn’t met for two years, that was for a reason. Each moment she spent away from him represented a tiny moral victory, further proof that she could do without his therapy, and without him, too. But by going to his house tomorrow, and remaining untouched, at least she would prove to herself just how far she had come.
    Anna liked to remind herself how far she had come, and grown. A matter for quiet pride.
    As she went up the steps to the front door she savored an anticipation that had nothing to do with Kleist. The first thing she did was flick through the mail. Circulars. No Cornish postmark, no familiar hand. Nothing from her daughter. Anna, experiencing the sullen letdown of disappointment, made a face. There was something terrible about the power mail had. It got to the point where she was afraid to look.
    She had sent her daughter a sweater. A month ago now.
    Anna checked the answering machine, then made herself a large gin and tonic before deciding to have a bath. As she lay in the foam, glass conveniently nearby, she found herself dwelling on the day’s events. She had lost a case and she was to blame. This year, she’d lost more than she’d won. Not all of them were her fault. This one was, though.
    And what about the other case—the one where the clients were suing her for negligence?
No.
This is
wrong.
Think positive. Tomorrow is another day. Everybody makes mistakes. You can only do your best.Look forward to the next
good
thing: a weekend followed by three whole days off …
    Gerhard had taught her the tricks, how to cope, when all of life had been one long cope.
    By the time she’d finished dressing there was a smile on her face again. She looked at her watch. David had promised to ring at eight, forty minutes away. How she longed to hear his voice again! But… I’ll put the time to good use, Anna thought. Juliet’s my daughter, by God, and if she doesn’t care about me, I love her, and she’s only sixteen, and if I want to phone her, I will. Even though—oh God, admit it—the only person I really want to talk to is David.
    But it was such a rigmarole. That dreadful girl who ran the commune and always answered put up so many barriers. At last, after much negotiation and some old-fashioned pleading, Anna heard the familiar snuffly voice.
    “Lo.”
    “Hello, darling. Mummy.” The pulse of sheer, naked love that flared through Anna rendered her breathless for a second. “How are you?” she managed to say at last.
    “‘Mall right.”
    Pause.
    “I hadn’t heard from you for such a long time, I just thought I’d ring to see how you were getting on.”
Help me, darling.
    Silence.
    “I sent you a sweater a few …” (she was about to exaggerate and say “months,” mentally altered it to “days,” then compromised) “… weeks ago. Did you get it?”
    “Mm.”
    “Is that mm yes or mm no, darling?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is it all right?”
    “Mm.”
    Sometimes Anna wanted to scream at Juliet when she was like this, but tonight she just felt sad. She was trying to think up a way of salvaging things when Juliet said, “Dad came down.”
    Anna heard the note of accusation in her adolescent voice and for the second time today knew herself to be on trial, this time, not as a barrister, but as a mother.
    “Oh, yes? How is Eddy, then?”
    “‘Sail right.”
    “Good.”
    “Why don’t you phone him?”
    “Did he say that, darling?”
    Silence. Then: “You never phone him. Never. Why don’t you?”
    “There’s not much I really want to say to Eddy, I’m afraid.” Anna gritted her teeth, but before she could stop herself the words were out, “Why don’t you phone me, darling? You know how much I worry.” She moved the phone from one hand to the other, wiped her forehead. “Couldn’t you just once—”
    “The sweater’s too big. I gave it to Fergie. Look, I can’t talk anymore now.”
    “Juliet, please don’t—”
    But the purr on the line meant that her daughter