I knew no one there, though I recognized the Silvermans. He wasn’t wearing shorts this time but a thick tweed suit. When Selina introduced me I thought about what Beryl had said and wondered if the boy called Silver had hastily got rid of his friends for the weekend. Mrs. Silverman looked at me the way I’ve noticed parents of the young look at other young. It’s a wary look, an assessing look, distrustful and expecting the worst. If you met their young, would you have a bad influence on them, making them even worse than they already are? Maybe you’re dealing drugs. Maybe you drink, do cocaine, drop out, vandalize phone boxes, write on walls, live in even worse squalor than they do. Make up your mind, they seem to be saying to themselves, to keep them away from yours at all costs. All that was in Mrs. Silverman’s look and her smile. Her handshake wasn’t very enthusiastic either.

Her husband was nice. He wished me a happy birthday and even said he hoped I’d meet their son. I ought to meet some young people, not all this lot, he said, waving his hand at a man Selina said was a television producer, her producer, and a Wanda Something who had a restaurant in the King’s Road. The producer was all smiles and jollity. A life-and-soul-of-the-party man. Like the rest of them, once he had kissed Selina, he started telling her how wonderful she had been in recent episodes of Streetwise, she was more famous than a film star. Selina simpered and smiled and said it was marvelous for an artist to be appreciated, it made everything worthwhile.

“I daresay the dosh isn’t bad either,” said Jack Silverman.

“You said your son was coming,” replied Selina, showing her claws, “but I suppose one word from you and he does as he likes.”

“We haven’t seen him.” Erica Silverman sounded unhappy about it. “The place was deserted when we got here on Friday night and the top flat an absolute tip. I sometimes wonder what we pay Beryl for.”