Vanella padded in on bare feet. She had not worn shoes until she was fourteen, when she had left Madagascar, did not like them even now, and slipped out of them whenever she could.

“Mister, would you like another coffee?” she purred.

Fleur flicked a disapproving glance towards her maid. Colin was not perturbed. It was not often that he was offered coffee this good. He picked up his cup and handed it to her.

“Thank you, that would be invigorating.” He caught Vanella’s eye. “And what is your name, young lady?”

Vanella took the cup and accepted the compliment in his steady glance. “Vanella. It’s Vanella.”

Colin smiled. “That’s a nice name.” He turned his smile on Fleur, inviting agreement. In fact, he was measuring by her response whether she had understood what he had said to her. If she had, she was not putting it into practice, for she was still looking askance at Vanella’s neat retreating bottom. The fact was that Fleur had not taken in much of what Colin had said beyond his reference to the two souls.

Vanella brought another Blue Mountain special and placed it in front of the medium. He inhaled the aroma of Jamaica through his uneven nostrils. He had the impression that Vanella would have liked a reading, too, and actually picked up some interesting things on her as she dallied in the room, wriggling her toes across the silk pile of the carpet. She finally wilted under Fleur’s stern look, and sloped back into the kitchen whence no further sounds came.

When Colin spoke again, he took a different tack.

“You were born when the sun was in Virgo.”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m a Virgo native.”

“You are, but by progression . . .” He saw immediately that she did not understand, but pressed on. “Although you had your arising when the sun was in its final degrees of Virgo, you are for the last thirty years or so, by progression, a Libra. And these are your last years as a Libra before you move into Scorpio, which can also be beautiful, because your Venus . . .” Fleur’s ears perked up. “. . . which is in Scorpio, but unaspected—albeit your problematical love life—will be finally reintegrated into Scorpio. We can expect wonderful results from this. Yet it would be the greatest pity if in this last year you cannot become the essence of a super Libra.”

“I will . . . I will,” squealed Fleur, galvanised, and reaching for a cocktail Sobranie.

“The Libran is the epitome of diplomacy, of tact—the perfect personality for the consideration of others. Remember, Fleur . . .”

“Would you like some more coffee, Mr Colin?” The kitchen door peeped open.

“Not now, thank you.” It closed again.

“That was delicious, but I must now be going. I promised my wife I would take her to the pictures.”

The earnest expression on Fleur’s face faltered. She hadn’t expected such mundanities from a person of this calibre. The big man stood up, and Vanella appeared in the kitchen door. Fleur felt she had somehow failed a test and, wanting a second try, said, “How much do I owe you?”