‘Are you delivering Clug to British Rail?’ The county artistic director came up now. ‘If it’s a nuisance I can easily—’

‘No, no, Robert, everything’s okay, his bags are in my car. It’s no bother.’

The artistic director wondered whether he should say something about Clug stopping the night in Salisbury on the way down to see the sights. Perhaps he had better not since Laura appeared to have been with him—well, she had driven him down, hadn’t she? Not that that necessarily meant—‘I think the concert was a success,’ he said, looking doubtfully at the thinning crowd, finding Laura slightly alarming.

‘Of course it was. D’you think you could extract him from that hive of music lovers? He will miss his train otherwise.’

‘Of course, of course. I don’t think they are as much musicologists as—well-ah-he’s a very attractive chap, isn’t he? I’ll do a bit of tactful disentanglement, shall I?’

Robert shot off to detach the conductor, who stood surrounded by an eager group of women and less eager men.

Laura waved in the direction of Clug, caught his eye, tapped her watch. Clug waved back and put his arm round rescuing Robert’s shoulder.

After a while Clug leaned back in the car beside Laura. ‘Ach, that’s good. That boy look at you with calf eye, I see it.’

‘Saw him,’ said Laura, ‘not it.’ She turned up the heater. ‘And it’s calves’ eyes, not calf. What have you been reading, Cluggie?’

‘Woman’s magazine. I try to learn all about loathing in capitalismus countries. So much freedom. Now in my country—’

‘Loving, Clug, loving. I can’t think why I bother.’

Clug chuckled. ‘I go ’ome, so no problem, darling. Loathe, love, same thing.’

‘Good job you are going.’

‘So you no longer loathe me?’ Clug queried.

‘Might be verging on it.’

‘I observe cruel tone of voice. No need to understand worts.’

‘Crotchets and quavers.’

‘Comment?’

‘My French is as weak as your English.’

‘You squash. Come to Bucharest,’ Clug cajoled. ‘A nice little visit. I fix visa.’

‘No, thank you. I have told you. No fear.’

‘Notting to fear.’

‘Oh God,’ Laura exclaimed irritably, ‘do shut up just for once. No fear is slang, it means no thank you, nothing doing.’

‘We do not do enough,’ Clug laughed.

‘Did not.’

‘Okay, did not. So why not come now? Jost one last night?’

‘No. Non. Nein. Niet.’

‘Niet, I understand.’

‘That’s great. Now here’s the station. Got your ticket? Got your bag?’

‘You come?’

‘No, I told you.’

‘So—you—did.’ If he wished, if he made the effort, a few words could be accentless. ‘So a kiss, a final kiss?’

Laura pulled on the handbrake, leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘Goodbye, Cluggie.’

‘Do not get hurted by that calf boy.’

‘The boot might be on the other foot.’