Season nodded. ‘I’m beginning to feel better in myself. I’m beginning to understand that I didn’t actually lose my personality when I was out there in Kansas. I’m still me. But I’ve been in hiding for so many months inside of my head – well, it’s going to take me a while to coax me out again.’

Granger crossed his legs. ‘Do you think I could help? That’s what my church is all about.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been particularly religious. I believe in God, but that’s about all.’

‘That’s all you need. We’re not one of your heavy, upright, believe-it-or-else organisations. We’re not a bunch of religious kooks, either. We’re just a group of friendly, concerned young people who believe that the power of our Lord Jesus Christ was, and is, a practical power. As practical as a garage mechanic’s wrench, or a housewife’s food blender.’

‘The Church of the Holy Cuisinart?’ asked Season, sarcastically.

Granger grinned. ‘You can make fun. A lot of people do. But the whole thing makes human sense and spiritual sense too. Our Lord has power, and nobody in the whole world can convince me that he won’t let us use that power for good. Why do you think Jesus demonstrated his miracles in public? So that the people around him would realise that they could heal people too.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Season. ‘Right now I feel like emptying my head right out, not filling it up.’

Maria came to the doors in her black dress and her white apron. Season called, ‘Maria? Could you bring us out two glasses of white wine, please? The Christian Brothers’ pinot chardonnay.’

Granger said, ‘I’m not asking you to fill your head up. Keep it as empty as you like. I just believe that I could help you come to terms with yourself again. And I know that you’d enjoy one of our meetings. Why don’t you come tomorrow? I could call by and pick you up.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Season. ‘We have friends coming over for lunch tomorrow.’

Granger looked at her winningly. His eyes were as pale as opals. ‘It won’t take more than a couple of hours of your time. I mean that. And it could be the turning-point in your whole life. Apart from that, you’d be the most beautiful woman in the whole congregation, and I’d love to have you there.’

‘You’re flattering me again, Granger. Last time I was tired. Now I’m not.’

‘You’re still beautiful.’

Maria came flip-flapping out from the house in her plastic sandals, carrying two large glasses of freezing-cold pinot chardonnay on a tray.

‘Mr Hughes staying for lunch?’ she asked. ‘Avocado salad.’