Okay, yes, yes, funny, perhaps, but only in the sense of a strictly vulgar, bawdy, lowest-common-denominator kind of …

Miss Hahn was like one of those dreadfully unamusing Shakespearean knockabout characters – a fool or a tradesman or a rustic – whose jokes are all obscene puns which nobody really understands but which the ‘modern thesp’ tries to articulate by dint of a series of desperately lewd thrusts and grunts and gurning gestures.

‘An’ I’ll as say it ag’in, Mr Huff,’ Mrs Barrow grumbled, ‘these sheets is not what I’d call hygienic. And your pyjamas have got a red stain on the elastic which if I didn’t as know better I would say was like lipstick.’

An especially noxious shade, too, Miss Hahn observed.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I snorted.

Mrs Barrow handed the bottoms over with her spare un-gloved, un-unguent-ed hand, then marched off to the bathroom.

I inspected the bottoms. Oh. Yes. How odd. That did look like lipstick. And the shade was rather noxious.

Ha! Miss Hahn ha!-ed.

‘Will you be wanting a bowl of the soup?’ Mrs Barrow called through. ‘I reckon as it should be warm by now.’

‘I don’t really think I could manage anything, Mrs Barrow,’ I responded, somewhat plaintively.

Mrs Barrow (never a woman to take no for an answer) brought the soup through in a small bowl.

‘Shall I as spoon it in for you?’ she asked.

‘If you balance it carefully on the bedside table I should probably be able to cope,’ I sighed.

She balanced it on the table then took the precaution of placing a tea towel over my pillow.

‘I’m not a child, Mrs Barrow!’ I grumbled, then took the spoon, lifted it out of the bowl, and promptly spilled soup over the cloth.

Congratulations! Miss Hahn trilled.

It was simply a problem with the angles.

I took another spoonful, cursing, and promptly spilled that over the cloth, too.

Third time lucky! Miss Hahn chortled.

‘Well I’ll as leave you to it, Mr Huff,’ Mrs Barrow purred, smiling grimly (I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mrs Barrow smile before), ‘I can see as how you’ve got everything under control.’

Then off she waddled.

As soon as she was out of the room, I applied my lips to the dropped soup. It was a curious pink colour. And fishy. I sucked and then winced. I wasn’t entirely sure it was … that it should … that it hadn’t … hadn’t ‘turned’. Was that … (I sucked my teeth, thoughtfully) oh dear … beetroot?! Aniseed?!

‘I as forgot to bring you your telegram, Mr Huff!’

Mrs Barrow had silently re-materialized in the room, meanwhile, damn her. She was holding out a telegram.

Oooh. A telegram! Miss Hahn exclaimed. How exciting!

‘Could you possibly …’ I rotated my hand. She tore off the end of the envelope, removed the contents and passed them over.

Thank you, Mrs Barrow! Miss Hahn cordially thanked Mrs Barrow.

I took the small sheet of paper and inspected it. The executors of Kimberly’s estate had finally made the necessary financial transfer! And this was the confirmation! What a relief!