They had packed up around midnight, or at least, he and Isabel had left Uri and Liz alone.

He shut Uri's door, thinking that for once he might find the nerve to ask Isabel into his room.

She stood on the gloomy landing glancing at him expectantly.

"It was a nice evening, thanks," he said. Pathetic.

Her lips pressed together. It was her solemn expression, the one that made her look half-tragic.

"Yes, I enjoyed it," she said. "Let's hope there's a new government in Scotland tomorrow. Liz will be over the moon."

"Yes." Now, he thought, now say it. "Goodnight," he said meekly.

"Goodnight, Nick."

And she'd walked off to her room.

Surely if a girl liked a boy she was supposed to show it: some small word or deed of encouragement? But she hadn't actually discouraged him. He clung to that. If it hadn't been for the fact he could never keep his mouth shut Nicholas might have asked Cecil for advice. Cecil never had any trouble chatting up girls when they visited the Old Plough.

The clouds above the valley were disintegrating, pale beams of moonlight probed down through the tattered gaps. Nicholas looked up from the cube, watching them shiver across the undulating parkland. After the uniform darkness of the storm they seemed preternaturally bright. Trees and bushes imprinted on his retinas, ragged platinum silhouettes which vanished almost as soon as they were revealed.

A face looked back at him through the glass. It was a Woman, probably not much older than him; her features were slightly indistinct, misted somehow, but she was certainly attractive, with thick red hair combed back from her forehead.