Saturday morning was gloriously fine. When I woke up and saw the sun streaming over the page 124 polished floor I felt like a little boy who has been promised a picnic. It was all I could do not to telephone Daphne. Was she feeling the same ? It seemed somehow such a terrific lark that we should be going off together like this, just with a couple of rucksacks and our bathing suits. I thought of other week-ends, the preparation, the emotional tension, the amount of managing they'd needed. But I couldn't really think of them ; I couldn't be bothered, they belonged to another life . . .