How did she know? Before she married Max she had had a flat in Baron’s Court. I got dressed and went upstairs. The yellow drawing room was full of flowers. I suppose Selina had carefully chosen them to match the furnishings, for they were exclusively yellow and reddish-brown with emerald leaves and ferns, and arranged them herself in two big vases and an urn. The urn stood on something that I think is called a jardinière, a big iron construction, all scrolls and spirals. The whole effect was less of a room designed to be lived in than a set piece constructed to be photographed for a glamorous interiors magazine. It smelled strongly, not of the flowers but of one of those sprays whose scent is not that of the fresh meadows it claims to simulate but of cheap aftershave. I tiptoed in, looking uneasily about me. I wonder if I’ve ever been anywhere that made me feel more uncomfortable, with the exception, of course, of tunnels and underpasses.

In the five minutes’ grace I had been given I had thought mostly about Max. It was Max who had answered the phone on those two previous occasions. I disliked the sound of that long talk Caroline Bodmer had had with him. Had she asked him where I was? Was I ill? This took some thinking over. Max, even at that moment, up in his disordered aerie, might be less preoccupied with his index than with retribution and venting his anger on ungrateful me. The form that would take was pretty obvious. However, at least five minutes had gone by, nearer seven minutes. I dialed the number.

I spoke to her. If I hadn’t met Silver and become his lover, if I hadn’t wanted to stay with Silver and go back on the roofs and discover more roofs, if I hadn’t wanted to keep my hold on old Mrs. Fisherton’s because if I lost the flat I’d either have to go home or do what Liv had done, if all those things weren’t true, I would have told her I had changed my mind about the course and was dropping out. Instead I said I had had shingles.

“You’re very young to have shingles.”

“I know,” I said. “My GP told me he’d never come across it before.” I don’t know if what I said next is true but I dredged it up from some half-remembered village talk. “At my age he’d have expected it to come out as chicken pox.”

If you lie, always supply circumstantial details. They convince. She expressed sympathy. When would I be back? Next week, I said. Yes, well, that would do. Did I realize I had missed several lectures, the social science seminar and the management placement? I’d do my best to catch up, I said.