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hangs up a banner: Beware the Demon Drink—over the booze cupboard. When the literary crowd descends, she has to hire a navvy to cart them home in a wheelbarrow.
    The woman came in again, carrying a cup on a tray. She asked:
    How is your mother, Austin?
    In excellent condition, thanks. She’s coming to London next week.
    Will she be staying with you?
    She’ll be at my place. I shan’t be there, though. Going to join some friends at St Moritz.
    She sat down opposite them. There was something about her that Sorme found very attractive. He would have guessed her age to be about forty. In some way, she managed to give the impression of being well-dressed without seeming to care about her appearance. The tweed skirt was well-cut, but it had started to come unzipped at the waist. The mouth and chin were firm, slightly schoolmistressy. But there was something curiously anonymous about her: she was the kind of person he would not have noticed if she had sat opposite him on the tube.
    I didn’t catch your name.
    Sorme. Gerard Sorme.
    Nunne said: I thought it was Sormes.
    No.
    What do you write, Mr Sorme?
    Sorme said embarrassedly: Austin shouldn’t have introduced me as a writer. I’ve only ever published a few poems in magazines.
    Are you a Catholic?
    He said with surprise: No, why?
    I wondered. . .
    Nunne said: He’s an atheistic freethinker, with inclinations to Catholicism. Aren’t you, Gerard?
    Austin, behave yourself!
    She smiled at Sorme, as if excluding Nunne from the conversation.
    You’re not a freethinker, are you?
    No. . . I don’t suppose so.
    What are you then? Nunne asked.
    Gertrude said reproachfully: Austin, do behave yourself. Have you been drinking?
    Certainly not. Not much anyway. Another, Gerard?
    Sorme said hastily: No thanks. I haven’t finished this.
    Nunne had given him a tumbler half full of neat whisky, and he was wondering whether he could find some opportunity to pour it back into the bottle.
    I really don’t think you ought to, Austin. It can’t be good for your tummy.
    Nunne stood up, a little unsteadily:
    No doubt you’re right, Gertrude. ‘Scuse me, dears.
    He went out of the room. Sorme watched her eyes following him.
    He really is rather drunk, isn’t he? she asked him.
    I dare say he is. I am, a bit.
    You don’t look it. Are you used to drink?
    No.
    I didn’t think so. Have you known Austin long?
    For some reason, a sense of shame made him reluctant to tell her. He said:
    Not very long.
    You mustn’t let him lead you into bad habits!
    I don’t expect so.
    What religion were you brought up in?
    I don’t know. C of E, I suppose. But I never had to go to church or Sunday school. I hated both.
    And have you any religious beliefs?
    The bare minimum.
    And what are they?
    Sorme heard Nunne’s footsteps outside the door. He said smiling:
    I’ll tell you some other time.
    Nunne came in again. He said cheerfully:
    I thought Friday was your meeting night?
    It is. It’s over now.
    Oh. And how’s old Brother Horrible?
    Who on earth are you talking about?
    Fatty. Tartuffe with the butcher’s complexion. What’s his name?
    Really, Austin! You get worse. What have you got against Brother Robbins?
    Nunne sat beside Sorme again, having refilled his glass. He said, winking:
    He’s after you, Gertrude.
    Nonsense!
    I saw it in his eyes. He’s thinking what a nice match you’d make. Nice cuddly little wifey.
    Sorme noticed with surprise that she had coloured. He stood up, saying: Excuse me.
    It’s upstairs, Nunne said, second on the left.
    The hall and stairs were carpeted with blue pile that made his footsteps noiseless. There were two prints of paintings by Munch on the stairs. In the warmth and haze of the alcohol, it seemed one of the most charming houses he had been in.
    He switched on a light, and found himself in a small bedroom, containing a single bed. There was a large framed photograph of a blonde girl on the dressing-table. He peered at it with interest, then kissed his lips at