‘ROOM FOR RENT,’ the sign read, and then in smaller letters: ‘SIZEABLE BUT MUST TACKLE STAIRS. SUIT WORKING MAN. Half Board, £1 a week. Apply Within.’

‘Must tackle stairs,’ Katie murmured, frowning at this rather odd condition. ‘That must mean it’s the attic.’

Still not sure that she could face another ordeal with a hatchet-faced landlady, she was turning to back away when she realized someone was standing on the path behind her.

‘Oh my goodness!’ She laid a hand over her thudding heart. ‘Did you have to creep up on me like that? You nearly made me jump out of my skin!’

A youngish man in a suit, with a sorrowful-looking moustache, was standing patiently, apparently waiting for her to move.

‘I was just coming home,’ he said. ‘This is where I live.’

‘Sorry,’ Katie said, calming down, ‘only I didn’t hear you.’

‘That’ll be my room,’ he added, nodding at the card, adding tragically, ‘They’re moving me to Manchester.’

‘Oh – I see. Well, yes. I’m looking for somewhere. Should I ask, d’you think?’ She wanted to say: What’s she like? But didn’t dare.

‘You could apply within, as stated.’ He produced a key and, before she could protest, swung the door open. A nice smell floated out, of meat cooking. ‘Allow me.’

A shrill barking also broke out as soon as the door opened, and Katie heard the tac-tac of a dog’s nails coming along the hall. A wiry-haired Jack Russell came to the step and stood barking for all he was worth.

‘Hello,’ Katie said to the dog, hoping it wouldn’t bite her, and it did more important barking.

‘Archie?’ A deep, well-spoken voice called. Light spilled into the hall as a door opened inside. ‘Oh, Archie, what are you doing?’

Katie saw a woman coming towards her, limping on obviously sore feet and wearing a shapeless, billowing frock.

‘Archie, for goodness’ sake, stop it! Now, out of the way.’ Opening the door of the room beside her, the woman put her foot against the dog’s backside, directed him in there with a firm shove and closed the door. The barking continued, then stopped, defeated. Katie found herself being observed. As the woman had her back to the light, Katie could only get an impression of her: hair in some sort of bun, but straggling, a surprisingly masculine-looking face with black brows, then the rest of her shapeless form lost in the green frock, which was belted loosely at the waist. On her feet were thick stockings and broken-down sheepskin slippers.

‘Oh dear,’ the woman said at once. ‘I see you really aren’t a young man.’

‘Well, no,’ Katie agreed, almost feeling she ought to apologize.

‘I see – and you have come about the room? Good heavens, I’ve only just put the card up. Were you standing out in the street waiting, or something?’

‘In a way I was,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve been looking for a room, and I was just passing.’

‘But really I want a young man . . .’