As she reeled off these questions, their answers occurred to Domenica. There was little mystery in the way in which one became a Watsonian: one was enrolled at Watson’s and taken there as a small child. But the interesting thing, of course, was the uniform, and the function it performed. This set one aside from other children, who belonged to different clans and social sub-sets: there was a badge, and this badge displayed the tribal totem of the Watsonians, a picture of a boat. That was very important, as Watsonians recognised the display of this boat as conferring membership of the group. Indeed, above Watsonian headquarters, a long, low, classical building on Colinton Road, an ironwork boat dominated a prominent weather-vane, thus signalling to any passing alumnus that this was a place of succour for Watsonians.

As for Watsonian enforcement mechanisms, Domenica realised that there was a great deal of work to be done there. The main mechanism of this type, she thought, was the look. There were various sorts of looks in Edinburgh, the best known and most widely used being the general Edinburgh look, which was best described as slightly discouraging. It did not involve a narrowing of the eyes; rather it entailed keeping the eyes quite open, but sending forth a sort of steely air of disapproval mixed with feigned surprise at what was being surveyed – surprise, really, that the other person actually existed. This was quite a difficult thing to do, in fact, and not easily mastered by incomers. Years of practice were required, although this Edinburgh look was best passed down from generation to generation if it were to be practised at its highest level.

The Watsonian look was not quite like this general Edinburgh look; it was not so disapproving, or discouraging. It said something quite different: its message, in essence, was this is how things are, and how they are meant to be, aren’t they nice, don’t you agree? That was quite a complicated message, with layers of social meaning, and would in itself require a major research project to be fully analysed. And that is something that Domenica felt she simply could not face. No, there might have been a time when she could take on field work among the Watsonians, but not now. Especially since she was a Watsonian herself.

Her coffee with Dilly was enjoyable, though, as it always was. Dilly did not press her, but gently encouraged her to consider various possibilities. Voluntary work? There were plenty of good causes in Edinburgh. The Art Fund? The National Trust for Scotland? The Cockburn Association, that brave band of conservationists who fought such heroic and important battles against insensitive plans for the city? All of these would appreciate support, and Domenica was certainly willing to provide it, but she felt a certain restlessness that she feared voluntary work would not address.

‘Italy,’ she said to Dilly, as she drained the last coffee from her cup.

‘Italy?’