She turned into his arms. ‘People could see us over there. On the boat.’

‘I don’t care.’

She pushed gently away from him and went into the room. ‘If I wasn’t me, would you still like me?’

‘Well, Christ, I don’t know. Now do I? I mean, be sensible. If you weren’t you, who else would you be?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then how can I know if I would like you or not? Eh? You might be big and fat, or dark and thin, or have freckles or whatever.’

‘I have those … some.’

‘Anything. I can’t tell.’

‘But supposing …’ She sat on the bed, hands on her knees. ‘Supposing when we wake up tomorrow morning I am someone else. What then would happen? If I was someone else?’

‘Are you thinking of making a change, may I ask? Is this a warning or something?’

‘No. But if I was?’

He sat beside her, removed the cigarette, drew on it, handed it back. ‘Now look here. I love you as you are, who you are … I don’t want any sudden shocks or changes. You do me fine, I love everything about you … I’m used to you, you suit me … you make me laugh and you make me randy. How does that grab you? Full-hearted confession. I don’t want any single thing about you changed, so don’t start thinking up any more pretending larks and suddenly deciding that you’ll be someone else by tomorrow morning. I want you just as you are. Final. Got it? I’m randy now.’

She kissed his shoulder. ‘Got it. You wouldn’t want me unless I was me?’

‘No. Poor Cuckoo. One kind look and you go off your rocker with fright.’

‘I saw. You did not.’

‘Leni … Cuckoo hasn’t had much of a life with old Archie Charlie, do you think? He’s not what you might call the Passionate Kind, is he? They never speak about kids … probably haven’t got any … not our business. Maybe she is sad about that. I don’t know. There’s something empty about her; maybe she was just looking at me like a Mum, you know? Could be: just that.’

‘Like a Mum! No. Like a woman. In that uniform …’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! You and your old uniform-kick! She’s been seeing me half bloody naked every day for days! She hasn’t gone all soppy then, has she? Doesn’t lurk about the bushes with a polaroid or something. She’s not a sex maniac or whatever, doesn’t grope me under the table … doesn’t take a blind bit of notice. I’m just me … who I am … she accepts, that’s all.’

‘You didn’t look like you down there just now. In that tunic and things … it was different; you were different.’

‘How different, for Pete’s sake?’

‘Different. Very male. Sexy … arrogant. Exciting, you see. Mysterious.’

‘Well, thanks. Now we know. So; unless I’m stuffed into a bit of Archie Charlie’s kinky collection I look like bloody Christopher Robin, is that it?’