She hadn't greeted Ted and was definitely distracted. She'd gone again. Casting Ted an apologetic look, I shrugged, and followed her inside. She was looking more than hectic; she was looking positively manic. Her hair was weirdly greasy and standing on end, her face was a bit puffy and shiny, and she had a strange look in her eyes, pupils hugely dilated. She seized my arm and pulled me into the sitting room, so Ted couldn't hear.

“Edward and I,” she breathed, really close up in my face, “have been to a spa. In a hotel. You have a meal first, very fancy, and then you go up to the spa bit and they give you a massage, OK?”

“OK.”

“Full works. Side by side, tiny towels. Dim lights, music, candles, couple of Thai girls.”

“Right.”

“And Edward, right, is about to pop.”

“Sorry?”

“He's about to pop. He's got like this massive . . .” She looked at me imploringly. “You know, Flora.”

“Oh!” I did. Suddenly.

“So obviously we need to hustle it upstairs. He's just parking the car."

"Right." I blinked. "Well, yes. Obviously."

“So I need you to go," she hissed urgently.

I frowned. “But . . . Ted and I are in the garden. We won't see him come in, we won't see you go up . . .”

"Yes, but the point is you're here! And you know how Edward has to have complete privacy. At all times."

"What . . . no one in the house at all?"

“Remember how we always had to wait until his roommate was out?" She glanced nervously at the door.

"You said that was because the walls were so thin."

“Flora, please don't be awkward. He'll be back any minute, and you owe me this.” Her dark, crazy eyes bored into mine, very close. She looked slightly unhinged.

“Yes.” I swallowed. “I do. I see. Quite right.”

“Why don't you go to Ted’s?” she hissed.

“Celia, we're not there yet.”

"Well, just — hurry it along a bit. At his place."

“No!” I glanced towards the garden, alarmed. “No,” I whispered. “Can I sleep here?”

She hesitated. “Could you . . . you know . . . sneak up later? Maybe read for a bit? In the garden? For about an hour?”

“What the hell's wrong with his B and B?”

“The owner lives there. It's her house, she's about."

“Right.” I remembered now not just impotent Edward, but tight Edward. What was wrong with that fancy hotel? She was looking a bit tortured, though. “OK, I'll sit outside.”

“And tell Ted to go out through the garden. Not around the front. Are these his?” She picked up his keys and wallet from the breakfast bar. Thrust them at me. “And blow out the candles. I'll lock the French doors behind you.”

“Do not!” I yelped. “How will I get back in?”

“True, good point. Now go.” She thrust a handy guide book at me. "Here. To read."