‘Where’s the receipt then? For the horse?’ said Gus Bender briskly. ‘I’ll sign it and you can leave the things; if you come back this evening. Otherwise you’ll have to take them back now. No use to me without the body, is it? Hardly my fault if the silly bugger gets copped at the docks, is it? And I’m not paying good money for a ruddy stuffed horse I can’t use and only clutters up the place.’ He ran his hand through his grey hair with irritation. ‘Now: look here, all this mucking about, all you have to do is straddle the blasted thing, drape yourself over a couple of paper rocks in a pair of wings, and lean against a tree stump looking holy with a few plastic arrows stuck here and there. That’s all. Nothing to it. Forty quid.’

‘That’s only three poses, boss,’ said Nig, a matchstick stuck between his teeth.

‘Well, the Greek Slave is a column instead of the tree, and no arrows, it doesn’t make any difference to him. A little bit of oil for the highlights and a posing-pouch. Nothing to it. You game?’

‘You’re weird, the lot of you.’

‘You got it on you then? The receipt, delivery receipt?’

Marcus looked down at the pale, earnest face, and the wide, anxious green eyes, the stubby little hands, the nicotined fingers, the airplane slide in the short shaggy hair. He suddenly laughed at her, nodded. She laughed back, her eyes dancing.

‘Fantastic!’ she said, and clapped her hands.

He found the receipt and handed it wordlessly to Gus Bender.

He pressed his face gently into the warm angle of her neck and shoulder: she smelled of fresh apples.

‘God! My wrists and ankles, they are practically severed, look where the cords were.’ He raised an arm towards her face, she took it and pressed her lips to the wrist tenderly.

‘I have some stuff in my bag, very soothing. I will find it for you.’ She made a sudden move from the bed, he grabbed her, pulled her back to him, holding her very tightly.

‘No. Don’t move. Stay where you are. This is very nice. They’re getting better already.’

She moved his head gently on to her shoulder and nodded contentedly. ‘I think it is very nice also. You must be very, very tired. So energetic …’

‘Almost dead. I don’t usually spend half the night tied to a stuffed horse, stuck all over with plastic arrows and buckled into a pair of paper wings stark naked.’

‘Not so. Not stark.’

‘As near as makes no difference.’

‘You were very beautiful. Classic. Mr Gus said so. I thought so.’ She laughed suddenly.

‘What?’

‘You thought so. I saw you looking at yourself in the mirrors, very pleased.’

‘Shut up. Spy.’

Her hand caressed his cheek lightly, ran along his chin, pressed against his mouth, a finger slid against his lips, he bit her.

‘You bite me. You have a terrible hard beard. I think you are a sadist.’