‘Well, did you solve it?’ No, they were still working at it, and a bitter quarrel had just erupted between them. ‘The father of church history’ . . . they must have done something silly, because for this one clue they still had eight syllables left, among them e-di-son, who, although he had done much else in his life, and had transformed his time, surely hadn’t fathered church history . . .

‘Do that one later!’ I said.

‘When later?’ asked Billie. ‘We’re sleeping later.’

‘Billie’s sleeping with me tonight anyway,’ said the Princess. ‘You can sleep next door in the ladies’ boudoir.’

‘Hurray!’ the two shouted.

‘Do you mind very much?’ asked Billie.

‘But . . .!’

She ran off to fetch her things, all those little bits and pieces every woman needs to keep her happy.

‘She likes you, my son,’ said the Princess. ‘I know her. Isn’t she a really nice person?’ The Princess began to move things around and to arrange Billie’s room. There was great excitement.

‘What shall we do with the flowers?’

‘Put them on the dressing-table!’

It wasn’t an old Bordeaux – but it was a heavy Bordeaux. The little room was dimly lit from next door, it was so warm and secret, and we cuddled each other.

‘Already?’ I asked. The ladies wanted to go to sleep.

‘But leave the door open when you’re in bed – so I can hear what you’re saying!’ I went and undressed for bed. Then I knocked.

‘Will you . . .!’ said the Princess’ voice. ‘Disturbing honorable ladies at their toilette! Voyeur! Lothario! Bluebeard! What a race of idiots!’

But where was my eau de cologne? It was in there – that wasn’t on either! Not for a gentleman. I gave another knock. Rustling.

‘Yes?’ I went in.

They were lying in bed. Billie was in mine: in loud pyjamas, with hundreds of flowers blossoming on them, she looked like the favorite wife of a Maharajah . . . she was smiling coolly at her crossword. She was almost beautiful. ‘What do you want?’ asked the Princess.

‘My eau . . .’

‘We used it all up!’ she said. ‘Now don’t cry – I’ll buy you some more tomorrow!’

I growled. ‘Did you finish your crossword?’

‘If we need you, we’ll call you . . . You can come and say good night to us!’ I went over to them, and politely wished them both a good night, with two low bows.

‘Billie, what a lovely perfume!’ She said nothing; I knew what it was. The perfume was ‘working’ on her skin – it was not only the perfume, it was her. And she had chosen well for herself. The Princess got a kiss from me, a very slightly regretful kiss. Then I went. The door stayed open.

‘Semi-precious stone,’ I heard Billie saying. ‘Semi-precious stone . . . Let’s see: sapphire . . . no. Ruby . . . no. Opal . . . no. Lydia!’