‘Well—yes—it does. I’ve walled them off.’

‘Who?’

‘Family.’

‘Oh.’

‘I sleep in what was the servants’ hall, and my bathroom was the pantry. I’m not here much.’

‘I got your message.’

‘I gathered from Mrs K that you’ve rented the loft. Sit down, do.’ She pointed to an armchair occupied by a cat.

Claud sat, edging next to the cat, held his hands towards the fire. ‘Yes I have, it’s superb.’

‘I used to rent it myself,’ said Laura. ‘I put the bed and table there, and the chair.’

‘Really?’ Claud was surprised. ‘What for?’

‘Privacy. To escape. I spent my pocket money on it. I lay and dreamed and counted my pimples.’

‘Oh.’

‘You know what it’s like when family become oppressive, unbearable.’

‘Well, actually, I—’ Claud thought of his gentle unobtrusive mother. ‘Not exactly, my—’

‘Drink? Tea? Coffee? Wine? Did you walk?’

‘Yes, your mother seemed surprised. Coffee, please.’

‘Walking, the lost art.’ Laura poured beans into a grinder and filled the room with its screech. ‘Sorry about that, it’s French,’ she excused the grinder. She switched on an electric kettle. ‘No one in their right senses walks along that road, you should have come over the hill across the fields, or come by bus.’

‘I missed it.’

‘People do.’ Laura poured boiling water onto the coffee, stirred the mix in a jug. Claud, breathing its heavenly smell, found himself telling Laura about his hero who, starting out as a pedestrian, was now the owner of an Alfa Romeo.

‘How splendidly vulgar.’ Laura peered into the coffee jug. ‘Nearly ready. What’s his name, your hero?’

‘Justin.’

‘Oh God!’ said Laura. ‘You can’t call him Justin.’

‘Whyever not?’ Claud was nettled.

‘You just cannot.’ Laura poured coffee through a strainer into beautiful but chipped cups and handed one to Claud. ‘Milk? Sugar? Help yourself. I’ve got a cake somewhere.’ She moved to the dresser, where a half-demolished cake sagged crumbling on a broken Worcester plate. ‘Justin,’ she said, ‘is unsplendidly vulgar.’

‘Um.’ Claud gulped his coffee. It burned. He could feel the burn right down into his chest. ‘I’ll have to think about that.’ He was not prepared to yield, knew that he would and must take care not to tell Laura that the choice of name had hovered between Justin and Crispin.

Laura subsided in a flowing movement to sit cross-legged in front of the fire; she had taken off her boots and was now barefoot.

‘You have beautiful feet,’ said Claud.

‘Yes.’ Laura tucked them out of sight under her skirt. ‘I know.’

‘I thought your mother was your doppelganger,’ said Claud.

‘And well she might be,’ said Laura. ‘There’s a male version too.’ She did not explain. ‘Have you seduced Mavis yet?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t had time,’ said Claud. Two can play at this, he thought, watching Laura’s face in the firelight; what does she take me for?