Of course she could join me. I was glad of the company. I welcomed her to the table, signalled to the barkeep that her drink should be refreshed. I waited while she took the chair closest to the fire, then slid it a short distance further back from the direct heat. I remembered as she sat down that I had noticed her briefly during dinner: her hair was a splendid iron grey.

‘I understand you have travelled here from Salay,’ she said.

I confirmed this, and briefly described the long journey on the train.

‘I was actually born on Salay,’ she said. ‘Salay Hames.’

‘The fifth,’ I said, the habitual way we had of confirming where someone meant in the island group.

‘The fifth, indeed. My name is Frejah Harsent, which you will know is not a Salayean name. I was born Frejah Garten. Harsent is my married name. I left Salay Hames when I was six years old: for some reason my parents decided to move here to Dearth. Because I grew up here I see Dearth and its peculiarities as a kind of normal, and to me it has always been home.’

‘Well, I was born on Salay Raba, the fourth, and still live there. That also seems normal to me.’

‘That’s where the money is.’

‘On Raba? Maybe – there’s a huge financial centre, but none of the money comes anywhere near me.’

‘Then that’s a peculiarity too, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘I’m a writer. Money doesn’t really come into it.’

She told me about her background, and the reason for her interest in crime. ‘When I went to university I began by reading social history,’ she said, ‘but after a few weeks I discovered criminology, and switched courses. I gained a good degree in the subject. After I left university I thought I should go into law, since most of the books I read had been written by lawyers. That didn’t work out, though, so I moved into something else. I’m still interested in crime, and read a lot of mysteries, the sort of books you write.’

For someone I had only just met she was remarkably forthcoming about herself, and I began to wonder if I had met her before. Maybe at the pre-lecture drinks party? I had not been there long, but I had spoken to several people, a whirl of introductions and short conversations. I did not recall her, but then I did not recall anyone else apart from the two young people who were my interlocutors.

‘No, I wasn’t at the party,’ she said, when I tentatively asked her. ‘I’m not a member of the faculty, and in fact I’m no longer connected at all with the university. I saw your keynote speech announced online, and because I had read a couple of your crime novels I sent off for a ticket.’