Norman walked slowly up the stairs of Number 225 Belgrave Square.
He resented the memories of the past that his former home awoke in him. Everything was vividly reminiscent of his wife.
Evelyn had decorated it all to her own taste and chosen the furniture piece by piece, but it seemed to Norman that he was as alien to the house he owned as he had once been to the woman he had married.
He had been much too busy after Evelyn’s death to think often of the years they had spent together. He owned, when he was honest with himself, that her death had caused him no regrets, indeed it gave him a sense of relief.
He had been afraid of his wife. Never would he admit it, yet deep in his heart he knew it to be the truth.
She frightened him and she had made little effort to destroy the barriers tha
