“Treating myself.” I had also thought that if the evening went well, Peter might stay too. I had imagined us lying on the bed in hotel robes watching clips from YouTube on the flat screen. On the website it said that a chef was available around the clock and that special requests were catered for, and I’d coveted the idea of us lying there giggling and ordering up strange creations from room service.

“Work must be going well.”

I shrugged. “Yours?”

Peter nodded and then looked away. I was not quite sure what Peter did. His degree had been in law. Now, his job was something to do with navigating the intricacies of international tax legalities for a series of companies I’d never heard of. It involved a lot of travel, and he was paid a lot of money, that was all I knew. My own job, compliance officer for an investment fund, drew similar reactions. People asked. I told them. After a few seconds their eyes glazed over, and the next time we met, they would ask again. Of course, after he went missing, I regretted not pressing him, accepting the averted gaze as a sign of boredom rather than evasion.

Peter fetched more drinks.

“Shots, Peter?”

“Shots and champagne.”

“Well that’s all right then.” I thought again of the room upstairs, the gorgeous, very expensive room only a few doors down from where Wilde and Bosie had enjoyed their trysts. My nightie was laid out on top of the covers. Next to the bed, there was a glass of water. In the bathroom, I had lined up the comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, makeup remover, eye makeup remover, cleanser, toner, moisturizer, eye cream, and hand cream. Small tasks performed for the benefit of my future self. It was a law I had come to live by: Thou Shalt Not Lay Mines for Thy Future Self! Thou Shalt Not Create Great Piles of Shit for Her to Shovel! But then sometimes it left me feeling like a butler to a cold and demanding stranger: the pension contributions, the long hours at work, the time put in at the gym, the eternal vigilance. Because what about me? What about the me now?

“You’ll make sure everything ends well?”

“Didn’t I always look after you?” Peter said.

I wanted to answer that it had been the other way around. Instead I said cheers because I couldn’t think of a better toast—absent friends was out of the question—and Peter said cheers too, and we drank the shots, and then the champagne, and then we drank lots more.