Iris didn’t answer.

“I see,” said Gwen. “We’re back into the war years, aren’t we? Someone you worked for in Special Operations, I take it?”

“Someone I’d rather not owe any more favours to,” said Iris.

“How many do you owe him now?”

“More than I can repay.”

“Will he call in that debt?”

“He tried to,” said Iris. “About a month ago.”

“What did he want?”

“Me. Working for him again.”

“As a—as a what, exactly? Would you be a spy? Do they even use that term?”

“An operative. A vague word for an undefinable business.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“No,” said Iris firmly. “And I told him as much.”

“Hmm,” said Gwen, looking at her closely.

“What? And stop with the voodoo perusal. Do you think I want to work there again?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought that last little speech in Sally’s play about missing the war years might have been based on you.”

“Me? I was the other woman.”

“You were cast as the other woman,” said Gwen. “But Sally knows you better than anyone, and it wouldn’t surprise me a whit if he excised a sample of you to insert into Lydia. Not to mention her having an affair with a married man.”

“Yes, let’s bring that up, shall we? May I also point out that Lydia was also married in the play, which I never have been, despite the best efforts of several suitors.”

“Has Sally ever proposed to you?” asked Gwen.

“Good Lord, no,” said Iris. “He’s too good a friend to spoil a relationship with marriage.”

“You do lead him on an awful lot,” said Gwen.

“That’s just teasing,” said Iris. “We both know it. It’s been our way forever.”

“Your way, perhaps.”

“Why must you take a perfectly lovely evening and spoil it like this?” asked Iris. “If I wanted to be analysed—oh wait. I agreed to that already, didn’t I? When is my appointment, again?”

“This Thursday afternoon,” said Gwen. “Right after mine. Then drinks to celebrate.”

“Unless your doctor discovers that drinking is the root of my problems,” said Iris.

“In which case, cake should be an adequate substitute.”

“I think I’m going to like psychotherapy,” said Iris.

“Getting back to your old boss…”

“I don’t want to contact him if I can avoid it,” said Iris. “To put it in Freudian terms, I want to figure this out myself before I go running off to Daddy for help. Let’s see what we can find out on our own.”

“‘We,’” said Gwen. “You’re saying ‘we’ again. Better.”

“It is, isn’t it? And here’s the cab stand. See you bright and early, partner. Matchmaking in the morning, library in the afternoon.”

“So exciting,” said Gwen, getting into a waiting cab. “Remember: The world must be peopled!”

“The world must be peopled,” echoed Iris, waving as the cab drove off.

The next driver in the queue looked at her expectantly. She opened her bag, assessed her available funds, then exchanged rueful shrugs with him and started walking towards Marylebone.