‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Do you expect him back any time soon?’

‘Actually . . . no.’

‘I should come back tomorrow then.’

‘My husband is in Europe.’

‘Oh, that’s too bad.’ Hogan shakes his head. ‘I’d have come sooner had I known. I’ve been neglecting you and I’m sorry for it.’ He looks so genuinely remorseful standing there, clutching his hat, that I relent and offer him a drink.

‘Why, that’s kind, thank you, ma’am and I’ll take a beer if it’s no trouble.’

I fetch him a Budweiser and a glass. Then, because there seems no other option, we sit down and examine each other politely. He has a pleasant, rather earnest face and thick white hair which falls boyishly across his forehead.

‘Hope it’s no imposition coming in like this.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I hear you’ve been doin’ work to the property.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Bought it off those Canadian fellas, I understand?’

‘Well ... in a sense.’

‘And your husband’s not here to oversee the job?’

‘He’ll be in Europe for the foreseeable future.’

‘That sure is too bad,’ Hogan repeats. He gazes round the room, as though it must surely be Robert’s absence which accounts for the domestic disorder.

‘I like your neckpiece,’ I tell him.

‘My bolo tie?’ He grips the metal flag and tightens it. ‘Patriotic, ain’t it?’

‘It certainly is. I should get one for my son.’

‘Why, certainly you should, ma’am.’ He gazes round the room a little longer.

‘So . . . you live at Fishsprings?’ Reluctantly, I prolong the conversation.

‘Yes indeed, ma’am, I own ten thousand acres of prime cattle land. Bought them back in ninety-six when I happened to be passing through with my wife.’

‘You’re a rancher then?’

‘No, ma’am, a dentist. I have my practice in Houston.’

‘Oh! What a pity you weren’t here last week,’ I say gaily and touch an explanatory finger to my mouth.

‘I’m in the cosmetic end of the trade, ma’am.’ He leans forward eagerly. ‘There are dentists who’ll give you a whole mouth of new teeth for next to no money but, heaven help you, you’ll look like you’ve gone and got Chiclets stuck into your gums. You want work done, you’d better come to an outfit like us. Different ball game altogether. We charge, but we’re worth it.’ He coughs discreetly. ‘My daughter always prided herself on having the best teeth in high school.’

‘That’s great!’

We stare at each other a little longer.

‘Mrs Coleman.’

‘Call me Alice.’

‘Mrs Coleman . . . ma’am,’ he falters.

‘Alice,’ I say firmly.

The whole ma’am thing drives me mad. In Ague, where they address anything in a skirt as ma’am, Emmy bares her teeth like a weasel on hearing it. ‘I’m not a mam,’ she snarls. ‘I’m a litttle girl ...’