Phyllis couldn’t trust herself to speak.

“We could fix you up in no time. There are lots of folks who would fight to have a lovely girl with a voice like yours sing to them . . .” Phyllis’s jaw dropped in horror. “But I’d like you to arrange it yourself when you’re good and ready . . . but not too long, eh?’ Her eyes twinkled across the tea-tray.

“Not planning on leaving, are we?” asked Phyllis after a hefty swallow of Darjeeling.

“You never know. It’s best to live every day as though it’s your last . . .”

“But Imo . . .” But Imo was looking into the near distance towards the stairs. “Your true self is that part of you which knows itself to exist, which is conscious of itself. When you take breath as its vehicle instead of this body . . .” she paused. “Now, when I’m not here, you continue to practise. You have your tape and you won’t need another teacher. And . . . and someone will come to help you. If you don’t like them at first, that’s all right, they will understand that.” The eyes, a little mauvy today, settled back into focus. “How are we doing with the habit?”

“You mean the smoking?”

“Yes, the smoking.”

“Not good. Better, but not good.”

“I see.”

“It’s hard. When I’m with you it’s easy, I don’t think about it, but when . . .”

“I know, I know, nicotine makes a strong impression upon the mind. It’s like an illness you suffer from for a long time—becomes part of you. Even after you’re cured, the impression stays. It has become a part of you. You don’t feel right without it.”

“I can’t seem to stop.”

Miss Sage lifted her hand. Blue veins showed through the translucent skin. “Don’t say ‘can’t’, dear, it only deepens the impression. Deny your weakness. It won’t be telling a lie. It’s not a reality, it is only a shadow, and a truthful confession of something unreal is worse than a lie. Never say ‘I can’t do it, I can’t sing in public.’ Decide for yourself what you wish to do, wish to be. If you fail to act how you want to be, think of it as a stumbling before you get the pitch of it. You will become how you want to be sooner or later.”

Phyllis had leaned back in the chair, her head resting against the antimacassar, and was listening so intently that it took a moment to realise Miss Sage was expecting a comment from her. In a voice that sounded distant—even to herself—Phyllis said, “It all seems so straightforward, so clear, when I listen to you.”

Miss Sage shifted in her chair and changed tack. “The breathing exercises won’t give complete results if the channels aren’t clear. The external organs of the body have to be clean to function correctly, but the inner ones, or centres, are the instruments of the mind, and the cleaner the channels of the breath, the more active they become. When your inner centres are working as they should, your skin will not only feel the vibrations of music, but the vibrations of another’s breath. Then music will, as it were, touch every particle of you. Above all be patient. The hand of providence may be very close, and if one loses one’s patience, the opportunity can be missed.”