This appeared to be a diary. Another book, rubbed at the corners like the cash-book in the kitchen, had what must be poems in it. ‘Oh do not smile on me if at the last’ Jonah made out, the words quite large, but then after a few lines, where the crossing-out began, getting smaller and scratchier, sloping away across the page until they were crowded and climbing over each other in the bottom right-hand corner. There were dog-eared bits of paper tucked in, and an envelope addressed to ‘Cecil Valance Esq^re, King’s College’ in the careful writing which he knew at once to be George’s. He heard rapid steps on the stairs and Cecil calling out, ‘Hallo, which is my room?’

‘In here, sir,’ said Jonah, pushing the letter back and quickly squaring up the books on the table.

‘Aha, are you my man?’ said Cecil, suddenly possessing the room.

‘Yes, I am, sir,’ said Jonah, with a momentary sense of betrayal.

‘I shan’t need you much,’ Cecil said, ‘in fact you can leave me alone in the morning,’ taking off his jacket at once and passing it to Jonah, who hung it up in the wardrobe without touching on the stained elbows. He planned to come back later, when they were having dinner, and deal with the dirty clothes unseen. He was going to be very much involved with all Cecil’s things until Monday morning. ‘Now, what shall I call you?’ said Cecil, almost as if choosing from a list in his head.

‘I’m Jonah, sir.’

‘Jonah, eh…?’ The name sometimes led to remarks, and Jonah started rearranging the books on the table, unsure if they showed in some way that he’d looked inside them. After a moment Cecil said,‘Now those are my poetry notebooks. You must make sure you never touch them.’

‘Very well, sir,’ said Jonah. ‘Did you want them unpacked, then?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s all right,’ said Cecil fair-mindedly. He tugged his tie off, and started unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Been with the family long?’