"Oh, wow, the Gerry Ford of the Art School. Anyway, not to worry; I bet I know where you're off to, hmm?"

"Oh?" Graham said, trying to look innocent.

"Yes, I can tell," Slater said. "Stop trying to look so damn nonchalant." A smile appeared on his face like oil surfacing on still water. "You've got the hots for our Sara, haven't you?"

"Oh, intensely," Graham said, trying to over-play it; but he could see Slater wasn't taken in. But it wasn't like that; it wasn't that crude, or even if it was it shouldn't be talked of in such a way; not now, not yet.

They aren't worth it, kid," Slater said, shaking his head sadly and wisely. "She'll let you down. Later if not now. They always do."

Graham felt happier with this direct assault; this was just gay misogyny, not even genuine at that, but another of Slater's roles. He laughed and shook his head.

Slater shrugged and said, "Well, when it does go wrong, at least you know you can come running to me." He patted his right shoulder with his other hand. "I have very good shoulders for crying on."

"Not," Graham laughed, "while you're wearing that cap, chum." Slater narrowed his eyes and straightened the tartan cap on his head. "Well," Graham went on hurriedly, "I really have to go now," and took a couple of steps backwards.

"All right, then," Slater sighed wistfully. "Do all the things I wouldn't dream of doing, but don't forget what your Uncle Richard told you." He grinned, blew Graham a kiss, waved one hand, then stepped on to the crossing during a lull in the traffic. Graham waved back, then walked away. "Graham!" Slater called suddenly from the other side of the road. He turned to look, sighing.

Slater stood outside the gallery, in front of one of its large windows. He put one hand in his jacket pocket, and as he did so his bow tie lit up; the small red stones were really lights. They flicked on and off. Slater started laughing as Graham shook his head and walked away up Rosebery Avenue. "A quick flash!" Slater bellowed in the distance.