She was sitting on the sun porch in the cool of the September evening; the garden below, still green and inviting, was very peaceful, and the house behind her fulfilled its promise of still tranquillity. Opposite her in the other easy chair, Jack Lett nursed his drink, and watched the swallows circling and dipping low over the lawn; between them, Dr Worthington, in an inappropriate business suit of pinstripe blue, was manicuring his nails. Somewhere within the house, Esther lay resting and Charles Bannister lurked, half in shadow, half in tentative sunlight, wondering if anyone would speak to him that evening … There had been many such days, during the past few months; but now they were sharpening towards a definite outcome.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Belle, a miracle,” said Jack Lett, appreciatively. His chief role during their retirement had been to make a series of remarks of this sort, at suitable intervals: it had taxed neither his vocabulary nor his patience, both of which were in any case sustained by lively hope of the future. “Soon as you say the word, we’ll get going.”

“She’s ready, any time,” answered Mrs Bannister. “Don’t you think so, Doctor?”

Dr Worthington lowered the gold-plated, miniature scissors with which he had been trimming a cuticle, and creased his face into a smile. “She is as ready as she will ever be.” He had a pronounced lisp. It might have been endearing. It was not. “The girl is well trained, and” – he waved a fleshy hand – “the little arrangements I have made will keep her out of trouble.”

“All the same, I wish you were coming along with us, Doctor,” said Jack Lett, not for the first time. Originally, it had been planned that Dr Worthington should be one of their party; but some trifling circumstance of the past now made it inexpedient for him to apply for a renewal of his passport. It had come as no surprise, but it was certainly a disappointment to them all. “I’d feel a lot happier,” Jack Lett went on, “if you were there to look after her. What happens if she breaks one of those lenses?”

“There’s no reason why she should break them,” answered Dr Worthington. “However, I shall arrange for some spares to be sent after you – and in any case, Esther will soon be able to do without them.” His lisping version of the word ‘Esther’ was particularly unreal. “The eyes become conditioned … The earplugs are a simple matter – nothing to go wrong there – and the injections” – he gestured again – “are beyond any mistake. You should do well.”

Mrs Bannister nodded agreement. “I’m not worrying,” she said energetically. “Hell, it’s only a routine! We’ve done it hundreds of times before. You’ve got to remember that people take the whole thing on trust, anyway. She’s Esther Costello. It’s like” – she paused, searching for a suitable parallel – “it’s like the Royal Family, here in England. Everybody’s with them, from the start. If they trip over the mat, people just look the other way, and say ‘What funny weather for July’ … She’s Esther Costello. Sure, there’s a lot of people looking at her all the time, but they’re all ready-made fans, whatever happens.”