No, it wouldn’t work. Secret love nests were for people in control, not for people who thought they would die if someone got out of bed to fetch a glass of water. She loved him far too much for that, she would make scenes and demands. There was only one thing to do — finish her degree and get right away for ever.

When she got out at the Embankment and made her way to the lift, she found that Kenneth Easton had been on the same train. Kenneth was usually unfriendly, copying Verena’s attitude, but today he seemed to want to walk with her and Ruth saw that he looked pale and wretched, so that their reflections, in the mirror of a shop, showed a pair of weary, green-faced wraiths.

‘You look a bit tired,’ said Ruth, as they made their way to the bridge.

‘Yes, I am,’ said Kenneth. ‘I am very tired. I didn’t sleep at all.’

‘It’s been a long term,’ said Ruth. ‘You’ll be able to take it easy after tomorrow. And you’ve been playing a lot of squash — that’s tiring.’

Kenneth turned to her, his long face showing signs of gratitude, for she had given him the lead he wanted.

‘Yes, I have been playing a lot of squash and it’s a very expensive occupation. And in other ways too… you may think it’s easy all the time to say napkin instead of serviette and that Featherstonehaugh is pronounced Fanshaw, but it can be quite a strain and my mother doesn’t always understand. In Edgware Green a toilet is a toilet and if you suddenly start saying loo people look at you. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered because I really thought that Verena might grow to care for me.’

They had reached the river and Ruth, for a moment, lost concentration. (‘I shall buy a thousand lemonade bottles and put a note in each and every one…’)

When she could hear Kenneth again, he was admitting to his foolishness. ‘I sort of declared myself. It was last night after squash and we were having a drink together in the club and it was so companionable. I completely forgot that my father was a grocer. He’s dead, of course, but that only makes it worse. If he’d lived he might have gone on to other things, but now he’s a grocer for ever.’

‘And Verena turned you down?’

‘Yes, she did. And she told me about Professor Somerville and that seemed to make it worse. I knew she cared for him, of course, but I thought it might just be one-sided — only when she told me about Africa, I realized —’

Watch the water, Ruth told herself. Water heals… it carries away pain. ‘What about Africa?’

‘That the Professor is taking her. She knew before, but she didn’t say anything because it’s a secret — and yesterday she went to the Geophysical Society and the Professor’s assistant had just been to arrange for a special cabin. No one’s supposed to know — I shouldn’t be telling you. You won’t say anything, will you, Ruth? Promise?’

‘No, Kenneth. Of course I won’t.’

‘I should have understood. They always stick together, the upper classes. People like us are all right for them to amuse themselves with, but when it comes to the point we’re nowhere. My father’s a grocer, that’s all there is to it. I never had a chance.’

No. I never had a chance either. My father is something worse than a grocer. Well, at least she was spared the humiliation of offering herself to Quin as a kind of concubine. The African journey was bound to be a long one and it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t marry Verena at some point. Kenneth had done her a good turn by severing the last shreds of hope.

She managed a few words of comfort, and together they made their way through the arch and into Thameside’s courtyard. Facing them, a confirmation of everything that Kenneth had told her, stood Quin and Verena in animated conversation beneath the walnut tree.

Quin lifted his head; he looked directly at her, and though she had thought in the night that nothing could get worse, she had been wrong: for what she had to do now was not to run towards him, not to throw herself into his arms and beg him to release her from this nightmare, and that was worse. It was impossible, but she had done it; she had plucked at Kenneth’s arm, she was pronouncing words.

‘Kenneth, I’ve decided not to go to the lecture — Heini wanted me to come to the practice rooms and I feel I ought to go. Will you tell Professor Somerville and make my excuses? Tell him I have to be with my fiancé — be sure to tell him that — and ask Sam to let me borrow his notes.’

Kenneth, suffering also, managed a magnanimous gesture. ‘I’ll let you have my notes, Ruth. My handwriting is far more legible than Sam’s.’

Quin had seen her come; had seen her bright head, her gallant figure in its worn cape, and his heart had leapt for now, in the morning, he knew it was impossible, what he had thought in the night — and he waited for her to walk towards him, relieved and grateful for the return of sanity. And then she checked and turned and went away, and even before Kenneth gave — verbatim — Ruth’s message, pronouncing the word fiancé in a way which was displeasing to Verena, the pain struck and clawed, and incredulity became belief. He had been used and betrayed.

But Quin, as he went to his room, had an escape which men have perfected and Ruth had yet to learn. Anger. An all-enveloping fury, a rage which consumed him: rage against Heini, against Ruth, against himself for having been duped. Tearing his gown from its hook, marching blindly to his lecture, he let it have its way — this torrent of fury which was so much less agonizing than the pain.

Chapter 27

Ruth spent the Easter vacation working. It was the work which, she assured her mother, accounted for the rings under her eyes, her loss of appetite and a certain greenish tinge under her skin.

‘Then you must stop!’ yelled Leonie, unable to endure the sight of her lovely daughter reduced to the kind of person one saw crawling out of bombed houses in newsreels of Canton or Madrid.

‘I can’t,’ said Ruth and (inevitably) quoted Mozart who had said he went on working because it fatigued him less than it did to rest.

If Ruth was exhausted, Heini was in excellent spirits. He and Ruth had been completely reconciled. She had come to him and asked his pardon and he had wholeheartedly forgiven her.

‘It’s not your fault, darling,’ he’d said. ‘That flat would put anybody off. Only Ruth, if you’d help me now, if you’d be beside me, I know I can win! I won’t ask for anything physical — when I’m established we can be married and have a honeymoon in some splendid hotel. You see, Mantella thinks he can get me to America if all goes well and if he does, you have to come with me! You have to — I couldn’t go alone.’

‘America! Oh, Heini, that’s so far!’

What he had said then, standing in his shirtsleeves looking out at the grey, slanting rain, had shaken her badly.

‘Far?’ said Heini. ‘From where?’ — and she had seen what he saw in her adopted country: the shabby lodgings, the poverty, the unfamiliar language and ill-cooked food. But she struggled still.

‘I couldn’t leave my parents.’

He’d taken both her hands then, looked into her eyes. ‘Ruth, you’re being selfish. We can bring them over as soon as I’m established. Everyone says there’s going to be a war — what if London is bombed?’

‘Yes.’ He was right. She was being selfish. She could help her parents best that way… and help herself. Three thousand miles of ocean should ensure that she was never tempted to crawl cravenly back to Quin and the remembrance of happiness.

‘All right, Heini; if you win and Mantella can arrange it, I’ll come. And I’ll help you all I can.’

That had been two weeks ago and Ruth had helped. She glued Heini’s tattered music; she massaged his fingers; she sat beside him as he mastered the dreaded arpeggios of the Hammerklavier.

She helped Pilly too, travelling to her house and writing even more revision notes to paste on her bedroom wall, till even Mr Yarrowby, shaving each day under diagrams of Reproduction in the Porifera or graphs of Dinosaur Distribution in the United States, became quite a competent zoologist. And she continued to work at the Willow.

Just before Easter, Professor Berger, whose tenure in Manchester had been renewed for three months, moved into a larger room and asked Leonie to join him. Torn between her husband and her daughter, Leonie became distracted and it was Ruth who bullied her.

‘You must go, Mama,’ she insisted. ‘I’m fine. I have Mishak and Tante Hilda and it’s only a few weeks. When the competition is over, and the exams, we’ll have a marvellous holiday.’

So Leonie went and Ruth, freed from the constraints of maternal care, worked even harder and felt even iller — and then it was time for the beginning of the summer term.

Quin’s lectures had ended at Easter. In the weeks before the final exams he only gave two revision seminars, spending the rest of the time in the museum.

He had been quite prepared to deal with Ruth when he saw her: anger had been succeeded by an icy indifference. The past was done with; Thameside itself, as the day of his departure grew nearer, was growing shadowy. In the event, his studied indifference, the cool nod he meant to bestow on her, were not needed. Ruth cut his seminars and managed never to be anywhere that he might be. This was not the game of invisibility she had played at the beginning of the year; this was a sixth sense bestowed on those who love unhappily and one which seldom failed her. She knew when Quin was in college — even before she saw the Crossley at the gates she knew — and took the necessary action. That her work suffered was inevitable, but that no longer seemed to matter. Survival was what mattered now.