At the beginning of my stay I’d lain awake at night, trying to make up poems about Cory, but it was hopeless and I’d given up. If I tried to describe his physicality, I just sounded trite—he has hair as brown as [insert simile], and his voice is low and gentle like [insert simile], and he has sad eyes. On the other hand, if I left out all mention of his body, with the intention of cutting straight to his soul—like the rain at night, like the wind over the sea—the words stopped meaning anything at all. I thought, or I had thought, that there was more scope in writing about the house. Perhaps if I switched to prose it might still be true.

“Oh Cory, where are you?”

I threw my pen down and got up. It would be easier to concentrate if I knew where he’d gone. I poked my head round the bathroom door, but there was no water on the floor and no steam on the window. The bristles of his toothbrush were dry. I wondered about taking my usual shower—my skin felt tacky under my clothes and my hair was stiff with seawater—but it seemed important to find him first. I shrank from the thought of being alone and naked inside Byrne Hall.

“Cory?”

It took a certain courage to send my voice ringing through that house. Every time I did it I felt as if someone—or something—were pricking up its ears. Perhaps it was an effect of the darkness, perhaps of the silence; certainly it had something to do with Diana’s presence in that stuffy upstairs room. I was glad of the wedding bustle outside, and whenever my search took me to the front of the house I made a point of pausing to watch the comings and goings.

I began on the first floor, but every time I crossed the hall I felt Lady Caroline’s eyes following me. It began to drive me mad; I had to switch the picture light on to assure myself of her lifelessness. I was glad she bore no resemblance to Cory. Her mouth was curved in the beginnings of a joyless smile, and her fingers were tighter round the spaniel’s collar than they ought to have been. Neither of these details had struck me before. For the first time it occurred to me that it would be good to be in London again; to have some distance from this place. I might be able to make some sense of it from there, and turn it into writing.