It was no good my trying to eavesdrop and it was none of my business anyway. I was just moving away from the door to go back to my work when I unleashed a mighty sneeze. It must have been the dust I’d raised with all that polishing. The conversation by the door cut short and swift steps thumped down the corridor. I retreated to the cellaret as if I’d never left it, just as the door was flung open.

The stranger blocked the doorway, staring at me from eyes that were iceberg blue, and just as cold.

‘Hello,’ I said weakly and gave a little wave with my polishing cloth. He didn’t move but continued his icy glare, silent and hostile. I felt frost crackling down my spine and suppressed a shiver. Nick was hastily shuffling down the corridor, making soothing noises. He appeared in the doorway and began talking. The stranger never took his eyes from mine, except once to demand something of Nick and jerk his thumb forcefully in my direction. He was wearing gloves, I noticed, black leather gloves. I couldn’t understand the conversation that ensued but I got the general gist. He wanted to know who I was and what the hell I was doing there. Once he spoke to me directly, aggressively demanding something. I shook my head and shrugged. I think he was trying to trick me into a response, to assure himself that I didn’t speak his language, that I could not have understood the conversation I’d overheard. It might have been in Transylvanian, for all I knew.

He spoke again, taking a step towards me, jabbing the air with his gloved fist. I can’t say I didn’t feel threatened, because I did: he was compact, strong and muscular, and together with his belligerent attitude and ice-zombie stare, seemed like a man who could do me damage and wouldn’t think twice about it. I named him Vlad. I was considering the broken leg of a nearby chair as a weapon to smash over his skull if he invaded my space any further, but Nick managed to calm him down, talking to him in hushed, conciliatory tones, and coaxed him upstairs.

I went back to my polishing, trying to ignore the loud voices I could hear from the room above, and concentrate on the job. About twenty minutes later Nick’s visitor came thundering down the stairs.

‘Nice knowing you,’ I muttered, thinking he was on his way out.

But then the door into the storeroom crashed open again and he stood in the doorway, scowling. I rose to my feet and held his stare, determined not to be intimidated, not to look away first. After a few moments he muttered something that sounded like a curse and swung out, slamming the door into the street behind him.