“Are you disappointed?” he asked, spinning like a model.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at him critically. “You’ve shrunk to life size all of a sudden.”

“I’m undercover,” he said, putting his bags down on the tea table. “Can’t stroll into Marylebone looking like I do in Shadwell. Every copper in the vicinity would be dogging me ’eels. So, remedy number one: Chicken curry, still ’ot, direct from Brick Lane.”

“Which place?”

“The ’industani one on the corner.”

“Ah. They’re decent.”

“This should clear those sinuses in no time,” he said, pulling out a pair of cardboard containers.

“And remedy number two?” she asked, fetching a pair of soup bowls, spoons, and a ladle from her cupboard.

“The old reliable,” he said, producing a bottle of whisky from the second bag with a magician’s flourish.

“My goodness, did you raid your personal supplies for little old me?” she asked.

“My supplies ’ave been previously raided from elsewhere, so no loss,” he said, pouring some into her tea. “It’s for a good cause. Feed a cold, intoxicate a fever, I always say.”

“You’re a regular Florence Nightingale,” she said, sitting on her sofa and ladling the curry into the bowls. “Will you be having a hot toddy as well, or will you take yours neat?”

“Neat.”

She found a clean tumbler, took the bottle, and poured him a healthy dose.

“You’re a generous bartender,” he observed.

“For medicinal purposes,” she said, raising her now loaded teacup. “I don’t want to infect my guardian angel.”

He clinked his tumbler against her cup. She gulped the tea down gratefully, the combination soothing the back of her throat.

“Let me administer the one-two punch,” she said, digging into the curry.

The aromatics attacked her sinuses on two fronts, and she felt the drainage begin.

“Lovely,” she sighed when they were done. “Thank you, Archie.”

“You’re very welcome. ’Ow goes matchmaking with the nephew?”

“Bernie is a quiet, well-behaved young man,” said Iris. “It’s hard to believe he’s related to you.”

“’E takes after me sister’s ’usband,” he said. “She married up. It’s the quiet that does ’im in. ’E needs a noisy woman to rouse ’im.”

“And you’ve just given me an idea,” said Iris. “We’ve recently acquired a very noisy woman. Maybe opposites will attract.”

“’Ow noisy?”

“On a scale of one to BOOM!, she breaks the scale,” said Iris.

“Worth doing just to ’ear ’im tell the story after. Funny, I thought you’d be setting ’im up with one of them bookish types. You know, one of them smart girls what never gave me the time of day.”

“What do you think I am?” she said, holding up her book.

“You are a puzzle,” he said. “University girl like you, and ’ere I am, a proud graduate of the School of ’Ard Knocks. It’s a wonder that we found each other.”

“How did you know where to find me, by the way?” she asked, looking at him sternly. “I’ve never given you my address, and the flat and telephone are not under my name. Did you follow me?”