Rollison waved him away and moved after Naomi Smith, who was half-way towards the front door. He passed her and put a hand on the door knob, but did not turn it.

“What did I say wrong?” he demanded.

“You know very well what you said.”

“I remember every word,” he admitted, “but I can’t see what made you take offence.” He turned the knob very slowly and with obvious reluctance. “Certainly, none was intended, but if you feel as touchy ever your young women as this perhaps it’s better for me not to try to help. Presumably we would have to work together.”

He opened the door wide—on to a landing and a flight of stone steps; this old terrace house had been converted into four flats, one on each floor, of which this was the top. He was not angry, but troubled.

He had a strange feeling that this beautifully groomed, hitherto very composed woman was on the point of tears. Certainly her eyes seemed to have become much brighter, and her lips appeared to be compressed to stop them quivering.

“Wasn’t that remark intended to be taken literally?” she asked.

“I asked you if it were very rewarding to help—” He broke off as understanding dawned. His face relaxed and his eyes actually laughed at her. “Now I see what a boner I dropped! It sounded as if I were asking if you were being well-paid.”

“It most certainly did!”

“It wasn’t even remotely in my mind,” Rollison said earnestly. “I really wanted to know whether you find it rewarding as a—as a vocation. I’ve somehow always associated guardians of fallen angels as somewhat more forbidding than you.” He put a hand lightly on her arm. “Please come back.”

She averted her gaze.

“Thank you for explaining,” she said. “I’m sorry I took offence.”

“It was an unbelievably clumsy remark,” said Rollison contritely. “Would you like to tidy up before lunch?” He was leading the way back into the big room, only to lead the way out of it by the other door. “Bathroom there,” he said, pushing a door open an inch or two.