Mr. Walsh clapped his hands and the lights went on in a tall glass cabinet against one wall. Inside was Mrs. Walsh’s collection of ceramic figurines, many of whom Desmond had met the last time he was here. The collection had multiplied significantly in two years, so much so that the shelves looked as crowded as Brighton Beach on a steamy July afternoon. Mrs. Walsh unlocked the cabinet and took out the figure of an androgynous boy. He appeared to be wearing too much rouge and his pants were hanging low in back, revealing the crack of his lush behind as he bent down to French kiss a puppy. “This is Carey,” she said, “our youngest. He’s a collector’s item. And this one here’s his sister, Cookie.” Cookie was a nymphet in hot pants whose toes were being licked by a kitten, to her obvious delight. You had to wonder how people got away with selling these things on the open market. Jane looked at Carey suspiciously before handing him back to Mrs. Walsh.

“Do you buy these on the Internet?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” she said. “They just arrive here when they need a good home.”

Desmond had played along with this the last time he visited, but in the presence of Jane, the little game struck him as humiliating. Mr. Walsh had gotten up to refill the juice glasses, and Desmond suddenly wished he hadn’t turned down their offer of a drink so quickly.

“Oh and here’s the one you were so smitten with last time,” Mrs. Walsh cooed, pulling out a bare-chested boy with a fishing pole sticking up between his legs. “He was excited to hear you were coming today.”

“He looks it,” Jane said. “Did Pauline like your collection?”

Mr. Walsh emerged from the kitchen with two full glasses and handed one to his wife. “She kept threatening to smash up the whole case,” he laughed. “She was a great one for joking around.”

“I think we’re set over here,” Chloe said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Mr. and Mrs. Walsh went back to their plaid sofa. Mr. gripped his wife’s knee, while Mrs. grinned into the camera. They were old pros at this, loved to talk about Pauline Anderton or, Desmond suspected, just about anything else, but it might help to reassure them. “I know we’ve covered most everything you have to say in the earlier talks I had with you, but we want to get some of it down on videotape for our film on Pauline. So I’d like you to relax and enjoy yourselves, and don’t worry about repeating things. This is very informal. As much as possible, pretend you’re talking to me for the first time.”