Her room was just the same. The bed made, the surfaces dusted. In her wardrobe were her clothes, on the dressing-table her radio. She looked at them with pacific surprise. She was dazed. What had happened to her in the church—and in a church—and with him.

Camillo had told her she would run away, and come back. But she should have got as far as London. This was absurd.

She sat down in a chair by the hearth. The fire at least had not been lit. They had not been positive.

She lay back in the chair and he went out of her like alcohol. It was like the brief tipsiness from the glass of vinegary wine. It had lasted longer, but then she had still been touching him.

She had truly made a fool of herself. She had been seduced back into the house, and now everything was to do again.

Again... Kiss me again. She had said that.

A burning blush poured up from the pit of her loins into her breast, throat and face.

She was abashed at herself, her triteness.

But also so tired. She had slept so badly in the small hotel.

She got up and switched on her radio. An easement of music rose into the room. How she had missed it. She lay on the bed and pulled the coverlet up over herself and the golden Satan shone behind her closed eyes. She was comfortable, and warm. She fell asleep.

That evening she bathed, put on her skirt and the new jumper, and went down to the dining room.

She did not know what she expected, but only Anna and Stephan were there.

‘Welcome,’ said Anna. ‘We’re so glad to see you are here again.’

‘You missed me,’ said Rachaela.

‘Yes, of course. Everyone missed you.’

‘Apart from Sylvian.’

‘Ah yes. Apart from him.’

‘I ran away,’ said Rachaela. ‘To buy this jumper.’

‘You should have told us you were so eager to go to the town.’

‘I was eager to go to London.’

‘Such a long way. Can’t your business be done by post—Cheta will take a letter to the village.’

‘It was an escape,’ said Rachaela. ‘As you realize.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I ran off like Adamus, and Adamus brought me back. Persuaded me with a fatherly kiss.’

Anna smiled and lowered her eyes.

Stephan hummed a little tune and stirred his soup.

It was sure: they knew.

‘I don’t,’ said Rachaela, ‘understand you all.’

‘So long as you’re becoming comfortable among us.’

The town had been horrible. Its throng of people, the misdirections and falsehoods. Like a nightmare. The house was safe. It made its own crazy sense.

No. The house was a madness. Only the outside world was real.

After the soup there was a vegetable casserole with toasted cheese. A gooseberry cream to follow.

Rachaela ate hungrily. The food was tasty and good. She was indoctrinated.