‘So ever since I hope to recognise it on some stranger I may be introduced to.’

‘But people don’t use hair oil any more.’

‘They don’t, do they.’

‘Did you make this up to make me feel comfortable after telling you about Amy?’ Claud was suspicious.

‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that.’

But watching Laura dress Claud thought that’s just what she would do.

‘Come on,’ said Laura, ‘I’m starving. Let’s get ourselves lunch, it’s not too late.’

As he followed her down the ladder Claud felt a rush of gratitude. She had not embarrassed him by asking to read his manuscript. She had not mocked. He felt assuaged, relaxed, masculine and bouncy, positively confident. When she suggested lunching at the wine bar, he agreed. It would be nice, it would round off a successful morning to have Mavis unwrapped from her awful overcoat stand pliant by their table to take their order. ‘Would it bore you to read my manuscript?’ he asked with a generosity which he instantly regretted.

They were walking up the street leaning into a draughty wind. Laura did not answer immediately. She was thinking that it was one thing to possess Claud’s body, there was much good work she could do there, but was she prepared to take on his mind? ‘I would not be bored,’ she said carefully, ‘but wary. It’s a big responsibility.’

Claud felt downcast; he wished he could retract his offer. It was not an offer he would have made to Mavis, for instance, or his mother or Amy, if they had still been on speaking terms. My work is private, he thought, his mind running already on a line roughly parallel to Laura’s.

‘I should be flattered,’ said Laura, ‘but think it over.’

‘How civilised you are,’ exclaimed Claud, relieved and ebullient. He pushed open the door of the wine bar. ‘What shall we eat? Come on, let’s sit here where we sat before. Let’s harass Mavis.’

But Mavis was not there. Her place had been taken by a gangling youth wearing a white apron stretching down to his feet, who looked at Claud with contempt. ‘Didn’t you know,’ he said, as he looked forward to telling them that everything was off except yesterday’s quiche, ‘didn’t you know that Mavis has got a part in a London show? She got a phone call last night and went off at the speed of light, borrowed the rail fare and hopped it. Right, then. You want to eat? Everything’s off except the quiche. Might be able to rustle up some salad.’

‘No matter,’ said Laura, opening her bag and extracting her purse. ‘Just take off that silly apron and streak down to the fishmonger’s like a good boy, and bring back two dozen oysters. We will eat them with lots of brown bread and butter. Bring half a pound of prawns, too.’