"Look here, Mr.—er—isn't there any way you can hurry it up?" bleated Mr. Rollinson. "It's been going on for a week. You really—"

"Yeah, squire, I know," said Nobbi. "Not a thing I can do."

There was an open courtyard in the library, with potted trees and a seat. Here Nobbi came, to look at the offending wall from outside. Stella was eating from a carton of salad.

"Hallo."

"Hallo," said Nobbi.

He made a couple of passes at the wall.

"Funny old job, this." He glanced at Stella. "How do you get on with him?"

"Mr. Rollinson? I wish I could kill him."

Nobbi grinned.

"It's nice," he said, "all them books. I don't get time to read. No, it ain't that. Just don't have the knack for it. I bet you enjoy it, though."

"It fills in the gaps," said Stella.

Her heart bounced in her throat. She said, "Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?"

Nobbi's mouth fell open. He looked about eight. Maybe nine.

"Well I—I get my dinner as I go. Always moving around—"

"Don't make an excuse. Say yes."

There was no one anywhere. The red walls of the library turned the courtyard into a medieval garden.

Stella got up and went to Nobbi.

She went right up to him, and softly touched his balls.

"I want to go to bed with you," said Stella.

Nobbi looked frightened.

"Hang on—"

"No, I do. I really do."

"I'm married. I'm old enough to be your dad. Got a girl of my own—"

"I'm thirty-five. I haven't made love for ten years."

Nobbi back away and the wall stopped him, Stella's friend. "But—"

"I'm telling you about the ten years," said Stella, "so you know I don't make a habit of this."

"I'm not—" said Nobbi. "You're brainy," he said, "all that."

"I'm Stella," said Stella. "I want to feel you inside me."

"Christ," said Nobbi.

He looked up into her burning eyes, and seemed to recognize her from a long way off.

"Please don't—" said Stella, "don't, don't say no."

"You're bloody scaring me," said Nobbi.

"I'm bloody scaring me."

Next day they met in the park. Stella had brought sandwiches of cold roast pork, mustard and cream cheese, and a half bottle of Muscadet.

They ate under the trees. It was spring, not very warm, and when she shivered, he put his arm round her.

"I shouldn't," he said. "And you shouldn't. A girl like you."

"I'm not a girl."

They kissed experimentally. It reminded Nobbi of former times, kissing on the grass, nowhere to go. But there was somewhere to go.

In the evening he rang Marilyn, told her he was working late over at Roehampton, and went to Stella's flat with a box of chocolates which he knew, intuitively, were wrong, but not what else to get.