Jesus shook his head. ‘Not the struggle. And not with her face like that. I tell you, it would not answer.’

Mrs Phear kneaded the hem of her cloak. ‘So do you tell him he must wait?’

‘He’s mad for it, ma’am. He’s not used to being crossed. We cannot cool his ardour with a Barnwell drab even if we could lay our hands on one at this time. When can you find me another such as this?’

‘In a month or so, perhaps. Even then it would not be easy. Not so soon after this.’

Jesus said, ‘He’s worth more than the others put together. But I cannot tell him she’s dead. I must say that she was terrified at the prospect before her, and stole away in the night.’

‘There’s another difficulty,’ Mrs Phear said. ‘What do we do with – with that?’

Jesus turned and looked back at the white body on the white bed. Suddenly time accelerated. Event stumbled after event in a disorderly rush. He heard a raised voice outside and footsteps. The door handle turned. He tried to reach the door, to hold it shut, but the bed and the dead girl were in his way. Mrs Phear whirled towards the sound with surprising speed but her skirt snagged on the corner of the table and the door was already opening before she had freed herself.

Frank Oldershaw was swaying on the threshold. His face was red and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. ‘Ah, there you are, Philip,’ he said. ‘I am on fire, I tell you, I cannot wait another moment.’ He caught sight of Mrs Phear and her unexpected presence made him falter. But he was too drunk to stop altogether and the last few words tumbled from his mouth in a dying whisper. ‘And where have you hidden my sweet little virgin?’

This body was found in Jerusalem on the morning of Friday, 17 February. The sun had not quite risen. The college gardens were filled with a grey half-light, which made it possible to distinguish the broad outlines of things, but not their details. It was very quiet.