She had a far more extensive knowledge of the Silverman family. Silverman, she said, was a Jewish name. The girl was as pretty as a picture, the living image of Princess Diana, but she didn’t live there anymore, she lived with some bloke somewhere, the way the young all did these days. The older boy was dark but the younger boy was so fair, with hair so blond it was white, that you’d have taken him for an albino till you saw his eyes. His eyes were gray, not a very dark gray but gray enough, not pink like someone she’d been at school with in Queen’s Park in the thirties.

“I don’t reckon they let it happen these days,” she said. “They do something about it. In the womb.”

Mr. Silverman had a business, he had a factory near St. Albans “or somewhere up there,” making glue. Well, not exactly glue, but what was the word? Adhesives? That was it, adhesives, stick-on labels and sticky tape and whatever. He and Mrs. lived in a big house out in the country like the ones you saw in TV dramas. They only came to London once in a blue moon. The place never got dirty, she only gave it the once-over every couple of weeks, but they sent her her check as if she spring-cleaned the place every couple of days. They’d let the son, the very fair one, have the top flat to live in while he was studying at some college. His first name was something ordinary, she couldn’t remember what, but everyone called him Silver. On account of him being so fair and being called Silverman. Even his parents called him Silver.

“I don’t reckon Mr. Silverman and Mrs. know how many he’s got living up there. They come and go, but last time I was in there, there was the chap and the girl and the other chap as you might call permanent fixtures as well as that Silver and two others I’d never set eyes on before. Mind you, he don’t let me in there. I’ve offered but he always says he likes it the way it is, he don’t like it clean.”

I asked her how she knew all those people were there if she never went in.

“There’s a front door to that top flat and it’s got, like, a glass panel in it.” She said this without a trace of shame. “I have a squint through that after I’ve done the top bedrooms. Seven he had up in there with him on Monday.”

“Do the permanent fixtures live there all the time?”

“They sleep there, I do know that. The one that looks like Yul Brynner and the girl and the little dark one.”

“Yul Brynner?” I said.