Continuing his analysis, he divided her form into two parts, body and head; the one for action, the other for thought. From his present observations, he deduced that the former most resembled a horse or foal, and that her frequent stretching conveyed a desire for action. Contemplating the head, he could almost deduce her feelings, which he read as waves that passed across her face, as deftly as a sea captain reading the mood of the ocean. The momentary puckering of the lips suggested pleasure, perhaps at the idea of being on the loose, on her way to the big city. The upward twist of her eyebrows indicated that she was not without ego, yet a certain expression about the eyes told him she was not above a dash of submissiveness. Of his many talents, Nick most appreciated his ability to read the language of the eyes, for it was his opinion that in the speed and direction of the glance lay the mystery of the expression.

The ticket inspector drew aside the door and Nick, nearest the corridor, produced his ticket. He was half expecting the girl to be directed to the other section of the train, when she produced what appeared to be a special pass.

“On the railway?” asked the inspector. He resembled the tubby half of Abbott and Costello.

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Where do you work out of then?” he went on, chatty for a change.

“Barking.”

“Going back to work, eh?”

“That’s right. Been to see me sister in Brighton.” Her voice had a foggy London accent. The inspector returned her pass.

“Be lucky,” he said as he closed the door.

Nick recalculated: not a girl from the shires up for the day, but a Londoner going home. Barking. Let’s see . . . that’s out Essex way. The train comes in to Victoria; is she in a hurry to get directly onto the Underground and home, or is it a window-shop in the West End? He noticed that she was still stretching from time to time.

He drew his chiming pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped it open, watching her face as he wound the hands to the hour. She looked up as it chimed, saw him staring at her, blinked and crossed her legs. Nick saw the skin of her thigh pucker.

“Wot’s your game, then?” she asked, levelling his glance.

Nick opened his eyes a fraction, letting her feel his power, and said, “I bet I could show you how to make your eyes up so they’d be the envy of every woman in Barking.”

Fleur didn’t stir until Mister Owl’s needle punctured her foot. It said much for the acupuncturist’s skill that she didn’t actually wake until he had half a dozen needles in place (her own needles, kept in her personal case: a recent precaution since the advent of AIDS). She felt the extra energy moving through her body, and opened her eyes. Her tongue was coated, and she remembered that she had deliberately forgone supper in order to ensure that her tummy was flat for the party.