“I believe you. Let me help you make up the bed.”

This wasn't a success, except that his efforts reduced Dottie to tears of laughter. “I'll do it,” she said when she'd recovered. “It'll be quicker.”

She proceeded to attack the bed in a wild frenzy of efficiency, punching seven bells out of the pillows until they took on some sort of shape.

“I still feel I should atone for making your life difficult,” he said. “Let me take you for a meal.”

“But you've just had a meal.”

He looked at her.

“No, I suppose not,” she sighed. “You didn't really touch it, did you? But you don't have to-”

“I should like to. Please.” When she hesitated he added shamelessly, “Just think of Brenda making up to your fiancé.”

“Right,” she said, setting her chin firmly. “Let's go.”

At his suggestion she used his mobile to call a cab to collect them in Hanver Street.

“Why Hanver Street?” he asked. “Is this a pedestrians only area?”

“No, but cabs don't like coming here because of all the one-way streets,” she explained as they stepped outside. “Hanver Street is just on the other side of Hanver Park.”

The little park was at the end of the road. A tiny place, just a stretch of greenery, a few swings and a little wood, it was an unexpected delight in this dingy neighborhood. It lay on a gentle slope, and as they descended the broad steps Randolph's attention was taken by two figures on the grass verge. They wore black jeans and sweaters. Their hair was completely covered by black woolly hats, and their faces were painted dead-white. Silent and mysterious, they were gravely miming a little scene. Their manner was gentle, and occasionally they smiled at the odd passerby who stopped to regard them. They might have been young men or young women. It was impossible to tell.

Randolph took out some coins, but the two performers threw up their hands in horror, seeming genuinely shocked.