Clara wondered whether another quick fill-up would be in order or not and had just decided that there would be no harm in it when the doctor came into the room.

‘I have to talk to you,’ he said.

She waved a hand towards the bottle. ‘Have a glass of champagne. Lar, get him a glass. We’re going out. There’s a taxi.’

‘No, thanks. No drink.’ He turned to Lar. ‘Would you mind leaving us? I have something I want to say to Clara.’

‘No,’ said Clara. ‘We’re going out. Look at me. When did you last see me all dressed up? Dressed to kill.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Though, I do have to say, I don’t intend to kill anyone this evening. We’re having a celebration and you mustn’t interrupt, unless it’s something urgent. It’s not anything to do with Mother, is it? You’re not going to spring something on me about her?’

‘No. Clara, please calm down. It’s nothing to do with your mother. Or any of the others.’

Out in the street the taxi hooted.

‘The taxi,’ said Lar.

Clara put her glass on the table. ‘It’s OK, Lar. We’re going. You go on out – I’ll be after you in a tick.’ She waited until he had left the house, leaving the door wide open and a little wind rippling the rug in the hall.

‘You just came most untimely, Doctor. I’m sorry if I was rude, but he’s made all these arrangements – such unlikely arrangements, I have to concentrate my thoughts on him. I have to give all the appearances of enjoying my evening. You must admit I’ve made an effort. Please admire me.’ She stood hands out with a slight smile on her face.

‘I admire you.’

‘So, if it’s something awful about the state of my health, can it wait till tomorrow?’

‘Let me reassure you it is nothing like that. It is something purely personal.’

He looked her up and down.

‘I do so admire you, Clara. Well, you’d better be off. Enjoy your evening. Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe there won’t be time or place for what I have to say. Maybe I’ll go back down to Oughterard, finish my holiday. Maybe … Clara.’

She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘You look tired. Stay here a while. Have some medicinal champagne, put your feet up, watch telly, talk to the dog, make yourself at home. No one can bother you here.’

She was gone out of the door, pulling it closed behind her, before he had time to reply.

Midnight.

What a weirdo evening that was.

Safely home and sitting at my work table.

Recollecting.

Recollecting is also weird.

I am only thinking now; I haven’t yet got my fingers working on the keyboard. That will be recollection of a different nature. Lar has taken the dog for a walk.