‘Apart from that, Jakopp bought himself some pastilles because he smokes so much, and when he smokes, he coughs. You know how it is – a pretty disgusting sight. Now he’s got something to stop him smoking: Fumasolan, the things are called.’

‘Well? Are they any good?’

‘Of course not. But he says that since he’s started taking them, there’s been a remarkable increase in his sexual powers. He resents it rather. Wonder if they gave him the wrong pastilles?’ Jakopp’s life was always like that, and he gave us a lot of amusement.

‘Give me a postcard. What shall we . . .?’ At last I had the answer. We should send him a telegram-card, because a proper telegram was too expensive, although it would have had him delightfully confused and irritated. So from then on we cabled appallingly urgent messages on postcards – starting with the one today:

FLOWN OVER KARLCHEN ALMOST COMPLETELY ARRIVED WIRE IMMEDIATELY TO CONFIRM WILL WIRE STOP GRANNY SADLY FALLEN FROM SWING

GRANDAD

We finished the great work . . . and we were resting quietly from our labours, when the Princess arrived.

She had bought buttons of many kinds; it’s quite bewildering what a multiplicity of wares a woman will find in even the smallest places. She had no money left either, so with a furrowed brow I pulled out my wallet and made rather a performance of it. Then we went and lay in the grass.

‘Do you find it hard to relax, too?’ asked Karlchen, who already felt completely at home. ‘A holiday’s hard work, I reckon. Even doing nothing is a big effort, and you only realise later quite how . . .?’

‘Hm’ we went; we were too lazy to answer. There was a rustle.

‘Put that newspaper away!’ I said.

‘Did you read about . . .?’ he said. And that did it: time had returned.

We had thought we could escape time. But you can’t, it follows you. I looked at the Princess and pointed at the newspaper, and she nodded. We had talked about it the night before; about newspapers, about time in general, and about this time. One often thinks love is stronger than time; but time is always stronger than love.

‘Reading . . . reading . . .’ I said. ‘Karlchen, what newspaper are you reading anyway?’

He told me the name.

‘You shouldn’t read just one,’ I remarked sagaciously. ‘That’s no good. You have to read at least four newspapers, and one of the big French or English ones as well; things look very different seen from the outside.’

‘I’m always amazed,’ said the Princess, ‘what people like us are offered – there aren’t actually any newspapers for us. Those we do have, pretend we have God-knows how much money – no – they behave as if money didn’t exist . . . but they know perfectly well we don’t have much – they just pretend. The things they tell us . . . and the illustrations!’