He looked at them quizzically. ‘No? Constantine Cavafy, the great poet of Alexandria. The great moffie poet of Alexandria.’

Of course! Silas said to himself. When you lose the memory of poetry, you lose your mind.

Food came, salads of smoked chicken and Malay sauce, Namibian oysters, whole trout grilled with almonds, a festive repast ‘worthy of Zeus, or his concubine daughter, Aphrodite’ . Julian, inspired now in his inaccurate recollections of Greek literature, ordered another bottle of wine. Silas watched a procession of serene ducks passing by, then looked at the sprinkler again, the sprays of water bejewelled in the sun. He was happy to be here, indolent, without real purpose, despite Kate's attempts to get them ‘to focus’ . Slightly drunk, at peace with his inner world for the first time in many months, he could even contemplate sex with someone, someone younger, agile in body and bodily imagination.

‘So, what about the party?’ Julian asked.

‘You can use my house,’ Kate said.

‘No,’ Silas responded, then tried to soften his abrupt refusal of the offer. ‘I mean…’

‘What's wrong with my house?’ she asked, mockingly affronted.

The Kate of old, Silas thought. ‘Or my own house?’ he countered.

‘What is wrong with both your houses is that they are lived in, they contain people and furniture. Overpopulated, if you take Kate's dogs, lovers, hangers-on … and as for you, Silas…’

‘Julian!’

‘No, but seriously, both of you have the kind of homes made for families, full of compromised space. How many people were you thinking of having?’

‘Fifty, maybe sixty.’

‘Whew!’ Kate said.

‘There,’ Julian said, and leaned forward. ‘You can have my house. Vastly empty, half the furniture's gone, all those flouncy bits, carried off by my carpet-bagging wife. What's left is austere enough to be sat on or stood upright. You can have a kinky fuck on it, too. Good enough for an orgy. Seriously, have my house.’

Julian was serious now. His drunkenness seemed to have evaporated. ‘Agree now, please. We have something more urgent to talk about.’

‘Well, it is big enough,’ Kate said.

‘Thanks,’ Silas said, a little chastened.

‘Good. Now, you know we are all about to be booted out.’

‘Out of where?’

‘Out of our jobs, out of government, out of the Union Buildings.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Silas asked.

‘Well, maybe not you. But who knows? You're not really black, you know. Look, I'm in the transitional team. Our Prez is preparing the way for the new Prez. Review of all the jobs and the people. The criteria we received are quite clear. His people…’

‘That's fine, to be expected,’ Kate said.