The address

'Do you still know me?' I asked.

The woman looked at me searchingly. She had opened the door a chink. I came closer and stood on the step. "No. I don't know you.'

'I'm Mrs S's daughter."

She held her hand on the door as though she wanted to prevent it opening any further. Her face gave absolutely no sign of recognition. She kept staring at me in silence.

Perhaps I was mistaken, I thought, perhaps it isn't her. I had seen her only once, fleeting, and that was years ago. It was most probable that I had rung the wrong bell. The woman let go of the door and stepped to the side. She was wearing my mother's green knitted cardigan. The wooden buttons were rather pale from washing. She saw that I was looking at the cardigan and half hid herself again behind the door. But I knew now that I was right.

"Well, you knew my mother?' I asked.

Have you come back?' said the woman. 'I thought that no one had come back.'

'Only me.'A door opened and closed in the passage behind her. A musty smell emerged.

I regret I cannot do anything for you.'

'I've come here specially on the train. I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

'It is not convenient for me now, ' said the woman. 'I can't see you. Another time."

She nodded and cautiously closed the door as though no one inside the house should be disturbed.

I stood where I was on the step. The curtain in front of the bay window moved. Someone stared at me and would then have asked what I wanted. Oh, nothing,' the woman would have said. 'It was nothing."

I looked at the name-plate again. Dorling it said, in black letters on white enamel. And on the jamb, a bit higher, the number. Number 46

As I walked slowly back to the station I thought about my mother, who had given me the address years ago. It had been in the first half of the War. I was home for a few days and it struck me immediately that something or other about the rooms had changed. I missed various things. My mother was surprised I should have noticed so quickly. Then she told me about Mrs Dorling. I had never heard of her but apparently she was an old acquaintance of my mother, whom she hadn't seen for years.She had suddenly turned up and renewed their contact. Since then she had come regularly. 'Every time she leaves here she takes something home with

her,' said my mother. She took all the table silver in one go. And then the antique plates that hung there. She had trouble lugging those large vases, and I'm worried she got a crick in her back from the crockery.' My mother shook her head pityingly. 'I would never have dared ask her. She suggested it to me herself. She even insisted. She wanted to save all my nice things. If we have to leave here we shall lose everything, she says.' 'Have you agreed with her that she should keep everything?" I asked.•As if that's necessary, my mother cried. 'It would simply

be an insult to talk like that. And think about the risk she's running. each time she goes out of our door with a full suitcase

or bag.'