‘Oh, well, I don’t suppose we’ll be that long, will we? Shall we go to my office?’ Her eyebrows raise enquiringly. An unworldly girl, but beguiling in a funny sort of way. Something intriguing about her at least. After their last encounter he had been left with the strong sense that she hadn’t told him everything she knows about Satnam Mann and this concerns him.

They walk down the corridor and through the swing doors to the Deanery in silence, Nevis following awkwardly a couple of paces behind. He opens the door and waves her in.

‘You look a little tired,’ he says, going round to his side of the desk.

‘So do you,’ she says, perching on the edge of the visitor’s seat. He glances at her, trying to gauge where that remark came from but her face is an open book or an empty plain, depending on your point of view.

He lets out an awkward laugh. ‘At my age everyone looks tired.’

‘What age is that?’ she says.

He finds himself laughing. Either the girl is a complete innocent or she is a monster. He hopes the former. Easier to manage. ‘I always think age is just a number.’

She frowns and closes her eyes for a moment and then, in a soft and puzzled voice, says, ‘Everything is a number.’

‘Indeed,’ he says, steepling his hands. She amuses him. Reminds him of himself at fifteen, a boy with a single-track mind, newly arrived on campus, wildly clever and not a little clueless. ‘Now, how can I help?’

‘It’s about Satnam.’ He catches her glance and holding it notes in those clever hazel eyes pain and perhaps a touch of wariness.

‘I see. You’ve heard that her condition remains the same. Serious but stable. We’ll have to continue to hope. Are you getting the support you need?’

‘No.’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Well, we should contact student welfare.’

‘I mean I don’t need any,’ she says, hastily.

He looks at her for a moment. There is something rather amazing about her. Perhaps she is that very rare thing, he thinks, a person who speaks her mind. What does she know, he wonders, and how much of what she knows does she really understand?

‘Perhaps a different kind of support might be more helpful?’ He smiles.

‘Like what?’

‘How does a coffee sound for a start?’

She returns the smile and nods. Not entirely without a sense of humour, at least.

Standing, he goes over to the coffee machine, slots in a capsule and taps the ‘make’ key. ‘Was that why you asked to see me? Because you were finding student welfare unhelpful?’

‘No,’ she says, bluntly, ‘I came to see you because I found something.’