“What do you mean?” she said. “Just an allergic reaction?”

“Well, just an allergy,” he said, surprised. “I have them from strawberries. It itches a bit and then it goes down; it’s uncomfortable, but it’s no big deal.”

Lulu sighed. She had occasionally wondered just what was taught at drama school; apparently, it had not involved science lessons.

“For your information,” she said, “Anaphylaxis is a potentially serious medical condition. I’m overcome with relief to learn that in your particular case it’s just a little bit of an itch which goes away, but in fact it comes in all sorts of forms and can go to all sorts of degrees, and if it’s serious enough—which it quite often is—it can make your throat swell up so that it blocks the breathing and you die.”

How could he not know that? she thought. Everyone knew that. Really, he was every bit as scientifically illiterate as Sophie. Then she remembered where they were and why they were there; and then she noticed that his face had turned very white, and that she herself felt suddenly very sick.

“Are you the sister?” A small man with a kindly face and a mop of baby-fine silver hair was at her elbow.

“One of them,” she said.

He extended a small, warm hand. “Dr. Chisholm. Shall we sit down to talk?”

Gently, he led them both to a couple of chairs in the corner of the room.

“Your sister,” he said, “is having an anaphylactic reaction. She’s gone into shock, and we’re doing everything we can to reverse the effects. It seems that she ate something this evening that she’s allergic to—her boyfriend says she had shellfish for dinner, so it’s probably that.”

“Shellfish?” There flashed into Lulu’s memory a picture of Sophie, aged sixteen, on a family trip to France, finishing an enormous dish of mussels, then dipping her face ecstatically into the bowl to slurp the broth.

“It can’t be shellfish,” she said. “Sophie isn’t allergic to shellfish.”

“People can be allergic to some shellfish and not to others,” he said. “But that’s not the point now. The point is that she is having a reaction, and we’re trying to counteract it. What typically happens in these cases is that after a few hours the reaction will subside; and if your sister survives that—which we are making every effort to make sure that she will—she’ll be fine. She’s a strong young woman, which is in her favor.”

He was being reassuring, thought Lulu, her mind suddenly floating in and out of her body in the strangest way. Doctors were trained to be reassuring. Unfortunately, Lulu had a degree in biochemistry and understood the situation.

“You can’t know for sure, though?” she said. “Can you?”

He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head.

“We can’t know for sure,” he agreed. “If she survives, she’ll be fine. But—no, we can’t know for sure.”

If she survives. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Sophie, aged fourteen, lugubriously mimicking a now-dead elderly aunt who had been fond of the expression.