Then the brass key went into his pocket next to the other one, and both of them made a shape under the wool.

By half past six the house had the sound a house gets when people are talking about you in the next room.

Chloe wasn’t a name anyone said in there.

What came through was Evelyn’s voice, and Frank’s, and the small click of a wine glass set down on a magazine.

“She hasn’t been herself since the birth,” Evelyn said.

“I told her plainly,” Frank said.