Apparently Silver was pleased to see her. There was something deeply old-fashioned about Silver, though in the nicest possible way. He had no interest in the toys of a modern lifestyle, television, video recorders, movie cameras, any cameras, mobile phones, computers and computer games. A radio he had, what he called a “wireless,” which looked as if it dated back to the 1940s but perhaps had new works in an old cabinet. He read books, something that couldn’t be said for the rest of us. Like a character from some preprinting era of history, ancient or medieval times, he loved to listen to a tale unfolded. I know very little about Homer but I should think his audience was made up of people like Silver. He welcomed Liv, fed her, doctored her hangover with coffee, and sat (literally) at her feet to listen to her story.

Chapter 9

9

NOT EVERYONE WHO CAME to Silver’s had been rescued as I had and as Liv had, but everyone had a story to tell. Even Wim. Yet of his own past he said nothing for a long while. But that evening in April when I saw him come through the window I knew none of this. I was all wonder and excitement and near disbelief. He walked across the room easily and with grace, as if he had come in by way of the door like anyone else.

Silver, old-fashioned in his politeness as well as in other ways, introduced me. “This is Clodagh. Clodagh, this is Wim.”

Wim looked at me and nodded. His eye turned to the sleeping Liv. He poked her with his toe but she didn’t wake.

I can be overawed but I’ve never been shy. “What were you doing out there?” I said.

“Climbing,” he said. Just the single word.

Silver elaborated. “Some of us,” he said carefully, “go out on the roofs and climb. You can get quite a long way when you know how. Some roofs are better for climbing than others, of course, but it’s specially good along here and round into Torrington.” He gave Wim a look of deep warm affection, which his friend had done nothing to merit as far as I could see, wearing as he did the expression of the King of Siam being defied by Deborah Kerr. “Wim’s the best of us. He’s a genius at climbing. He could go from here to South Kensington on the roofs.”

“Say Notting Hill,” Wim said, his frown slightly smoothed.