‘It’s all right,’ I murmured tenderly. ‘I locked the door.’

‘I can’t.’ He sounded like a nervous virgin. ‘Not with Schmidt out there. I haven’t fully recovered from the time he broke the door down just when I – ’

‘He was labouring under a slight misapprehension.’ I drew his head back to my breast. ‘He won’t break this door down. He’s very romantic’

‘Then he’ll be listening at the keyhole,’ John mumbled. ‘I’ve become very fond of the little imp but I draw the line at providing him with vicarious entertainment.’

‘Try to rise above it,’ I suggested.

‘That was deliberate. Well, perhaps with a little of the proper sort of encouragement . . .’

‘How’s this?’

‘A step in the right direction, certainly. Do go on.’

‘More precious than jewels, more precious than gold,’ I murmured. ‘John, if you don’t stop laughing, Schmidt will think we’re telling jokes and want to come in.’

I figured we could count on half an hour. It didn’t seem that long, but it was actually forty minutes later when Schmidt raised his voice to a level that could not be ignored, even by me. Trust Schmidt to select an appropriate air with which to serenade us. This one was about a cold-blooded hoodlum named Pretty Boy Floyd. Folk music, like Schmidt, glamorizes outlaws; according to the lyrics of the ballad, Pretty Boy was a misunderstood martyr who had given Christmas dinners to families on relief.

‘I’ll head him off,’ I said, removing myself from John and the bed, in that order. ‘Stay there and rest.’

‘I don’t need to rest. I was just getting warmed up. Are you going to put on some clothes or have you decided to reward Schmidt for refraining from kicking the door in?’

‘I don’t have any clothes,’ I said bitterly. ‘Except that filthy, wrinkled, disgusting outfit I have worn day and night for too long. I will not put it on. I’m going to burn it first chance I get and dance around the bonfire.’

‘Widdershins,’ John suggested. ‘Have a sheet, then. You don’t want to get the old chap too worked up.’

He watched interestedly as I wrapped the sheet around me and tried to figure out how to keep it there. ‘I’m afraid you haven’t got the hang of it. Why don’t you come over here and let me show you?’

‘Some other time.’

‘Excellent suggestion.’

Schmidt had enjoyed himself with ‘the room service.’ I’ve never seen such a spread – everything from pastries to salads and from coffee to champagne. And, of course, beer.

‘I did not know whether you would like breakfast or Mittagessen,’ he explained, pulling out a chair. ‘So I ordered both. How is Sir John? How do you feel? Did you have a pleasant time making – ’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You look very glamorous.’