From the window the dying sun was turning the clifftops to vermilion fire, a swing of swallows swept upwards against the fading blue of the sky and scattered. I felt a strange loneliness suddenly. A feeling of isolation. I had an overwhelming longing to go off right away to the rue Émile Zola and not to wait until tomorrow for contact with Florence. I wanted to see her, touch her, or at least feel her near me. I wanted to see those steady grey eyes, be comforted by her calm. After the operatic nonsense I had just read, and more of which lay, I was certain, in the box-file on my bed, a little sanity would not come amiss. Banal ordinariness would be balm.

But there were problems in such urgent desires, Thomas for one, Madame Prideaux for another. And anyway, perhaps they had friends in for tea or lemonade or something. Such a fine evening.

So, set desire apart, get down to work.

On the white counterpane of the hillocky bed the box-file looked like a black coffin.

Inside, a bundle of papers, the copies from the Agendas, neatly held in a metal clip. Beneath them a sealed brown envelope. Stapled on the top, a card:

I trust that these random pieces will be sufficient to satisfy you and your curiosity! They are, I would venture to suggest, self-explanatory. It might be useful to you if I point out that the Lodge gates are at all times locked against exits and entrances. You might well speak with the lodge-keeper. If you have any queries.

There was no signature. But that didn’t matter.

The first page, on top of the Agenda copies, was a copy of a letter. It was undated.

Jericho.

My dear Master,

How wretched it always is when I return here from the pleasures of your retreat! The depression in this house is appalling. The mournful face, the whimpering child, the greyness! Oh! For light! For glory! For excitement and the touch of hungry lips! To pleasure myself I have been rereading some of my Agendas. Remember them? I have kept them faithfully since our first encounter all those years ago, as you know. It is quite fascinating to watch the development from callow youth-unaware to – I trust! – faithful and experienced servant. How much I learned from you. You who made me aware for the first time that the Oxford Dictionary is sometimes short of a meaning and that the word penetrate does not only apply to ‘thought’ or ‘thicket’! What fun! Could you perhaps give me some advice on where to place these little pieces of erotica? Seems such a waste to leave them rotting in a drawer in the studio. I think Stern or Spiegel in Germany, and others in France and Holland, would be quite interested. And I desperately need the money. Solly has been generous, but I want so much to get away. To start anew before it is too late and I am too old. Perhaps you could advise me next time I am ‘summonsed’?