‘You never came through, did you?’ the young man said, accusatory.

She had been trying to avoid him by dusting the stacks, taking out old books that were slightly foxed, and brushing them gently.

‘Is it any of your business?’

The young man became flustered. People relied on you not to be rude to them while they tried closer and closer forms of insolence. Rachaela did not play this game.

‘No—well, yes. I delivered the letter. Now old Soames thinks I pissed about and never gave it you.’

‘But you did.’

‘Yes, I bloody well did. Why didn’t you go?’

‘Excuse me,’ said Rachaela, and slipped away around the shelves.

‘What’s all this now?’ inquired Mr Gerard, who had come from the back eating biscuits. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Er no, this young lady—I brought her over a letter from Lane and Soames and she hasn’t taken it up, and old Soames thinks I’m to blame.’

‘What letter’s this?’

Rachaela did not answer. She dusted a copy of The Egyptian and put it carefully back into its slot.

‘Something to do with property,’ said the young man. ‘That’s my guess anyway. They’re all of a doodah over it, damn nuisance.’

The fog was in the shop again. Unrelentingly it mouthed the capital.

‘She doesn’t have to make an appointment. Just pop up and Soames’ll see her. Wouldn’t take a minute—’

‘You could go in your lunch hour, Rachaela. My God, don’t you think you should? It might be worthwhile.’

Rachaela did not speak.

She did not tell Mr Gerard to mind his own business since she had never been rude to him. He paid her small wages.

The young man sighed. ‘I’ll just take the biography, then. Waste of time, reading fiction.’

‘Luckily not everyone thinks so,’ said Mr Gerard with dislike. Suddenly unpopular, the young man hastened from the shop.

‘What the hell are you doing, Rachaela?’

‘I’m dusting.’

‘You never dust. Stop it. There’s clouds of muck going up. Go to lunch. Take an extra ten minutes. Go and see this Soames.’

It was Saturday morning and the animal of the crowd was out shopping. Its mood was the familiar one, surly and desperate.

Rachaela walked towards the snack bar. A man charging by slammed into her shoulder and almost spun her round. She found the man from out of the fog by her shoulder.

‘Miss Day, you will allow me to accompany you.’

He took her elbow and turned her all the way about. They moved against the crowd, which seethed and spat in their faces.

‘You’re forcing me to go there?’

‘No, no, Miss Day. You will be pleased. Come along.’

It was Saturday. Would Soames be in his office? Apparently he was.

Three youths in football colours of some team from Mars collided with them. They were no longer a unit, the foreign man and Rachaela. They were hammered apart.