Grace could remember waiting for him in the close, humming, buzzing afternoon, under a lid of cloud – water boatmen scudding across the surface tension between fat lily pads, unseen fish mouthing their spreading rings, and after a while a shower of rain pocking the water all around her with a prickling sound, secretive and teasing as if it rose from the depths of the pond rather than falling from above. Of course Sandy was nicer now. Grace had every reason to be grateful to the saving veneer of adult decency: there was a wince of contrition in his new consideration for her. He even unwound a little in the balm of her uncritical attention, with no one else listening – dropped news of a forthcoming US tour into the conversation with unguarded self-importance. In the restaurant he brought off the performance required of him by his public, sophisticated celebrity combined with rebel youth. He spoke with extreme courtesy to the staff, signed an autograph without fuss, and didn’t finish anything he’d ordered; staring around him restlessly he shifted on his seat, crossing and uncrossing his long legs. Grace ate up all the food he didn’t want. — You know me, I’m so greedy, she said, with chocolate on her cheek, which he leaned over wordlessly to wipe off with his napkin, dipped in his water glass.

Only at the very last minute, outside the restaurant, when he was about to put her into a cab back to Isobel’s – sliding out two virgin twenty-pound notes from his wallet while they made their farewells, pleating them in his fingers, ready to slip them inconspicuously to the cabbie – did she fling her arms around his neck and kiss him, tasting for one heady moment, mingled with coffee and amaretto, his clean young skin and salty hair. — Take me home with you, why don’t you, Sandy? Please, just for this once? You know I’d never ask anything more of you, afterwards. Don’t you think I’m pretty? Aren’t I pretty enough for you? Just for one night?

Sandy extricated himself, ducking under her arm and leaning into the cab window, handing over the money, giving the driver Isobel’s address. — Grace, you’re very pretty. You know how fond I am of you. You’re a wonderful girl. But I respect you too much to ever take advantage of you.

— Oh please, don’t respect me, she cried too loudly in the street. — Please take advantage.

His respect, however, was inexorable.