My host unlocked and pressed the black-stained door open at the head of the stairs. I followed him into an L-shaped apartment that smelled of old cooking and cat urine. The room had but two sources of illumination: a skylight of clouded plastic and, unnervingly, a nightlight in the shape of an antique streetlamp that glowed from a wall plug.

“Sit, sit,” urged the man. I was reluctant. In way of furnishings there was a tan sofa and a wooden glider chair. The sofa’s upholstery was bearded in long cat hair, so I chose the wooden glider. I never did spy the cat. He settled into the sofa and immediately lit a cigarette, producing an ashtray brimming with mangled butts. “What do you fancy?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for a present for my fiancée. One of Vera’s sculptures…because they are so…highly unique.”

He nodded and nodded, reclining his head to spout smoke into the already cloying atmosphere. This caused his pyjama top to part at the seam. His breastbone was uncannily large and knotty. The sight of it distressed me.

“We was hoping for a newspaper story from you,” he returned, rather brashly. I noted that his accent, which had previously suggested the posh air of Knightsbridge, suddenly clanged with an antagonizing cockney lilt.

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m sure you can imagine how it is; editorial bureaucracy and the like. I pitched the idea, but my superiors turned me down.” I wondered why I felt the need to explain myself to him. “But I’d still like to purchase a piece, and to be put in touch with my cousin if that’s also possible.”

“The first bit is, aye. But as to Cousin Vera…”

“Nothing’s happened to her I hope.”

“Why do you say that, eh?”

I couldn’t answer. “Um…would you happen to have any of Vera’s pieces left here?”

The man kept his eyes on me as he extinguished his cigarette.

“Cuppa first, yeah?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, ‘tis nearly four after all.”

“Well in that case.”