The train continued on its journey. Now Cambridge came into sight – familiar spires; well-worked allotments, every inch given over to growing food; a forest of bicycles at the train station. She had to walk to the shop, and it took her over forty minutes; the rain held off, but it was there, she felt, in the air, not far away.

‘You telephoned me,’ the man said. ‘You’re the person who telephoned?’

She nodded. ‘That was me.’

He was standing behind the counter. He looked past her, through the window. ‘Rain,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Well then,’ he said. ‘The flute.’

He turned round and opened a cabinet behind him. He reached in and took out a narrow, leather-covered box, which he opened. ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘It’s a very nice instrument. Would you like to try it?’

He handed her the flute. The metal was cold to the touch. For a moment, she saw herself, fragmented, in the silver. ‘Try it? No, I don’t play, I’m afraid. I’d like to, but I don’t.’

‘So it’s for someone else? A child?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s for a man – a man who used to play but doesn’t have a flute at present.’

‘Then he’ll be very happy with this instrument,’ he said.

She left the shop, carrying the flute in an old shopping bag that the man had given her. It had not taken long to make the purchase – much less time than she had imagined – and this would give her the chance to do more of the things that she had on her list. But first, she wanted to shelter from the light shower which had started. There was a tearoom at the end of the street – that would do.

She took the last free table in the tearoom and ordered tea and a scone. Then she took the flute out of its box and examined it, holding it delicately. He would be surprised, of course, but it would make such a difference to him. She knew the cottage he lived in because she used to drive that way often. It was rather a dark place, she thought, and the farmhouse itself looked a terrible mess, even from the outside. Not a cheerful place to be, even in summer. Having a flute would make it easier for him, much easier.

6

La decided not to warn Feliks that she was bringing him the flute. The evening after she returned from Cambridge, she rode her bicycle out to his cottage. The rain had played itself out, or moved on, and the air was filled with warmth. In the field next to his cottage, cows were standing close to the gate, chewing, gazing vacantly at the road. Flies buzzed at their eyes. They watched as she walked up the narrow path that led to his front door. He could be working, she thought, as there were still hours of light left, in which case she could leave the flute on his doorstep, with a note perhaps. Even if she were not to leave a note, he would know that the flute was destined for him, although he might not guess who had left it there as a gift.