Laura wrote on the back of an envelope. ‘That’s Mavis’ mum’s address,’ she said. ‘She’s called Mrs Kennedy. Let me know how you get on. Bye, Susie, bye, Brian.’ She slithered into her coat, swung the magenta scarf around her neck, held it across her face so that they could only see her eyes, and crammed the Cossack hat onto her head, tipping it low over her forehead. ‘See you—’ And she was gone.

‘But—’ Claud clutched the envelope, watched Laura’s departing back. ‘She promised to take me there, to introduce me, to—’

‘She’s written the scenario, you act it,’ said Susie, ‘she’s like that. She’s not going to fix the rent for you.’

‘I never supposed—’ began Claud, who had supposed exactly that. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You are not meant to,’ said Brian. ‘What’s this butter for, Mavis?’

‘Laura asked for it,’ said Mavis, standing gracefully near the table.

‘Will she pay for it?’ asked Brian.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Okay, we will eat it. She seems also to have left us a croissant.’ He split the croissant and shared it with Susie. ‘Have another coffee?’ he suggested to Claud.

‘Thanks very much, that would be nice.’ Claud sat back. He had been in half a mind to run after Laura, make a date to be taken to see Mrs Kennedy’s loft or at least arrange another meeting.

‘Irish?’ enquired Mavis, gaining his attention; she looked bored, as though she was chewing gum, which she was not.

‘Welsh,’ said Claud, banishing her boredom. ‘Is she always like that?’ he reverted to Laura. ‘She left rather suddenly. I thought she—er—’

‘When we warm up we smell of dung,’ said Brian. ‘It offends Laura’s delicate nose.’

Susie snuffled with laughter into her glass of wine.

Claud was uncertain whether Brian was serious; he felt it would be offensive on such a short acquaintance to sniff, yet Brian did look very earthy, his fingernails rimmed in brown, his green wellies streaked with what might easily be manure. Mavis put another mug of coffee in front of him. ‘Oh,’ said Claud, ‘oh dear! She went off without—oh—I must—oh.’ He clapped a hand to his breast pocket.

‘That’s okay,’ said Mavis, standing very close. ‘She keeps an account here. I’m off soon,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you home to see my mother if you are really interested in the loft. Have you finished, Brian and Susie? Because if you have I want to clear the table.’

‘How brutal you are,’ said Susie, refusing to be rushed. ‘They don’t employ you here to harass us customers.’

‘They don’t know that I do,’ said Mavis, gathering plates and cups onto a tray. ‘Come on, have a heart. I want to get home and wash my hair.’

‘Have you noticed Mavis’ hair?’ asked Brian, keeping a tight hold of his wine glass. ‘It really is that colour, she doesn’t do anything to it.’

‘Tangerine,’ said Susie. ‘And her eyes are jade, her teeth like little chips of carrara marble.’ She nudged Claud. ‘You hadn’t noticed how delicious she is, had you?’