She had cheated time, or time had cruelly cheated her. And now she was ignoring what she had missed, spending time searching for what she had lost. She took the tour into the closed side of the cemetery and listened to the guide's commentary on this grave and that memorial, as he led his group of tourists on a pre-ordained route.

But she'd heard all this before the notable graves of lion-tamers and equerries to Queen Victoria. There were paths here that were ignored, that she must explore. She lingered, examining a crypt door in the mock Egyptian necropolis, until the group vanished round the next corner. Then she slipped through the sunlight into forbidden regions.

Shoulder deep in a sea of white cow-parsley, she saw b.u.t.terflies that she had seen nowhere else. The very air seemed to hold its breath. She was certain that Mother's grave was somewhere here and began to cast about, the matted gra.s.s tearing at her ankles. The afternoon heat was stifling her. She caught her shoe on a bramble and pitched headlong.

When she looked up, she saw a white pyramid rising above the long gra.s.s. It was smooth, untouched by the weather, and it threw back the light as if a cold sun burned inside it.

Victoria shuddered in the heat. Her throat dried. The pyramid pulsed with energy, humming a malevolent chord into her head. After a moment the barrage of sound relented, and in the sudden calm, she thought she heard the tinkling of tiny distant bells. It seemed to lift her as if she was weightless, spiralling up on a thermal above the gra.s.s and the flowers, and below her a figure lay sprawled at the foot of the pyramid.

Then something tugged at her. A wrench in her stomach that jerked her back down to the ground, back into c.u.mbersome bones and her earthly body.

Gasping for air, she scrambled to her feet and ran.

Mrs Cywynski, elderly doyenne of number 36 Aubert Avenue, Hampstead, crouched at the window, appearing to study the cl.u.s.ters of white star-flowers studding her precious money-plant. It was a large specimen, rather dusty and much prized, because it was one of the few plants she had found that the cats would not cat. In fact, Mrs Cywynski was spying. She peered between the fleshy leaves, scrutinizing the avenue outside.

That man had gone. No, there he was again. Sitting opposite, on the bench by the park entrance.

He had come to the door asking for Victoria Waterfield.

Mrs Cywynski did not like his expensive coat, sungla.s.ses and slicked hair all at odds with his barrow-boy accent. Three of the cats came to look at him and were not impressed. The others, perceptive creatures, could not be bothered. Mrs Cywynski thickened her own Polish accent to make him uncomfortable. Reaction to an accent, she always said, was a sure sign of character. He looked irritated and spoke loudly and slowly to her. He needed to contact Ms Waterfield as a matter of urgency. But he would not say why.

She said, 'No, no, no. I do not know this person. My piernicki piernicki will be burnt.' And she shut the door. will be burnt.' And she shut the door.

She had heard Victoria's phone ringing in the flat upstairs several times during the day. Nothing unusual in that, and of course no one was in to answer. Nevertheless, she had an intimation that something was wrong. All day she had been conscious of something. Some intangible disturbance in the ether, but nothing that had been foretold by her cards. Even so, she had an instinct for this sort of thing.

It was past seven-thirty and Victoria was always back from the museum by now. Mrs Cywynski, ever protective of her tenants, but never interfering, determined to waylay Victoria before she reached the house.

She put on her coat. No, that was no good. How could she leave the house with that man outside? Still Still outside. She went back to the window. outside. She went back to the window.

The dark shape sat motionless on the bench in the lengthening shadows. Mrs Cywynski thought about phoning the police, but they would never understand her instincts instincts.

Ignoring the cats' demands for their dinner, she went into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she descended the front steps carrying a tray with a solitary cup of tea. 'Such a waste of time for you,'

she said as the mirrored sungla.s.ses looked up. 'I thought you might like this.'

'When you see her, tell Ms Waterfield I called, all right, love?' He planted a card on the tray and walked off up the avenue into the dusk.

The card was marked 'Byle and Leviticcus Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths'. Mrs Cywynski put it into her cardigan pocket and went back indoors. She poured the tea down the sink in case any of the cats drank it and were sick.

Then she fed her complaining rabble and toasted herself some cheese. She put on Sinatra and sat down on the window seat to wait for her prodigal tenant.

The sound of the key in Victoria's front door woke her. A hard orange light cut into the room from the streetlamps outside.

Thanking Heaven, Mrs Cywynski groped for the table-lamp. It was a quarter past two. She heard laboured footsteps on Victoria's stairs, followed by familiar movements overhead.

Her worst fears unrealized, the landlady felt for the card in her cardigan pocket. She decided to wait until the morning before speaking to Victoria.

Something must have disturbed the air, for the prisms that hung around the edge of the lampshade began to tinkle like tiny distant bells. Looking round the room, she realized that she was being scrutinized by thirteen pairs of eyes. The cats, who could never normally endure to be seen all together in one room, were arranged all over the furniture, all staring.

'Stupids,' she said. 'You had your dinner hours ago.' She left them to it, filled her hot-water bottle and went to bed.

It was all quiet until about a quarter to four. Then Mrs Cywynski was startled out of a restless sleep by what sounded like a yell. She lay in bed, certain that she could hear someone upstairs crying.

Muttering, she pushed four cats off the counterpane and slid out her feet. Wrapped in her candlewick dressing-gown and an ancient hand-woven shawl, she mounted the back stairs that connected to Victoria's flat.

She knocked gently on the door and waited. After a second, she stooped creakily and called through the keyhole. There was an ominous silence.

'Victoria, dear,' she called again. 'I wanted to be sure you were all right. It's very late.'

After a pause she heard, 'Yes. Yes. I'm all right. I promise.' The voice was half choked.

'Would you like to rea.s.sure me of that?'

A very long pause. Suddenly a bolt on the other side was drawn. Then the second bolt, followed by the jangle of the security chain. The door opened a crack and Victoria peered out, her hair tangled and her eyes very heavy.

'Oh, kochano kochano!' exclaimed her landlady. 'My G.o.d, what has happened?'

Victoria tried to suppress a sob and failed completely.

Before she could be stopped, Mrs Cywynski was inside and hurrying her into the little sitting-room.

'What has happened? Victoria, have you been hurt? No, stay there while I make you some tea.'

Victoria sat on the ancient settee, wrapped in a blanket, trying to do something with her shaking hands. It was another ten minutes before she could begin to talk.

'I don't know where I've been. I can't remember. I mean, to start off with I was at the cemetery.'

'At Highgate?'

'Mmm.'

'Why? Has somebody died? Your tea's getting cold.'

'No. It's not like that.' Victoria sipped at the herbal concoction. 'It's my mother. I took the afternoon off to try and find her grave. It's been a long time, you see.'

'I see. And did you find it?'

'I don't... I can't remember.'

'There, there, kochano kochano. It's well past getting late. It's already getting on for early. Tell me after you've had a good sleep.'

'No. Please, I must tell you now.'

'So you do remember.'

Victoria had been staring at the floor, but now she lifted her eyes to look straight into Mrs Cywynski's face. 'Something happened in the cemetery. Something' she searched for a word 'overwhelmed me, but I can't remember what. A dizziness. It wasn't any person,' she added. 'Not just then.'

Not then?'

'Perhaps I just fainted. But afterwards I was wandering about.'

'Until two in the morning?'

'Was it that time? I know I was walking for hours. Miles and miles through the city, until I finally recognized where I was. But there weren't any buses or taxis, so I had to keep on walking.'

' Kochano Kochano, sweetheart, you know it isn't safe for a young lady to be out on her own at that time of night.'

'I know,' Victoria snapped. 'That's what I meant.'

Mrs Cywynski gently squeezed her hand. 'You have have been attacked, haven't you? Where was this? Oh! I shall... My dear, this man, I shall damage him personally. Are been attacked, haven't you? Where was this? Oh! I shall... My dear, this man, I shall damage him personally. Are you you hurt? He didn't touch you, did he?' hurt? He didn't touch you, did he?'

Victoria shook her head. 'I was walking up the hill and I heard footsteps running behind me that always frightens me.

The man ran straight on past me and so I thought I was all right.

'But then he turned round and he had a knife. And he was pointing it at me. A kitchen knife. And he said he wanted my money, so I opened out my bag and purse, but I wouldn't let go of them. I just opened the bag wide to show him. And he pulled out the notes and started flicking through the other papers and things with the point of the knife. And all the bits were falling out onto the pavement. And he kept apologizing, saying he was sorry for this, but he had a wife and children to look after and he couldn't afford to keep them.

'I said to him, "Let me keep the cards please, because you can't use them, you know." And he still kept apologizing. So I told him it was all right. I felt so sorry for him.'

The landlady hugged her tightly. A smell of eau de cologne and cats. 'What did he look like? Was he well dressed?'

'How could he be well dressed? He had no money.'

'But was he wearing sungla.s.ses?'

'At night?'

'You poor child. You mustn't feel sorry for a crook like that.'

'But I do. I had some loose change in my pocket and I offered him that too. But he said no, I would need that to get home. And I said I only lived round the corner.'

'Sweetheart!'

'But he ran off down the hill. And halfway he called back, "I wouldn't have used the knife. Honestly." And then the poor man was gone.'

'Poor man, indeed! How much did he take?'

'I don't know. About fifty pounds.'

'Fifty! You should have come in to me straight away. Now we must call the police.'

Victoria's already tense frame tightened. 'No. Please, no. I don't want to talk about it over and over.' The mask finally cracked in a welter of tears.

Mrs Cywynski rocked her gently back and forth in her arms. 'It's all done with now, Victoria. Nothing else to worry about. You drink this down and you'll get a good night's sleep.'

Through the sobs came a choked tirade. 'There's so much sadness in the world. People have so little, they're so lonely no wonder they do such terrible things.'

'Yes, dear. I know.'

'Why don't the people who have power do something? I'd I'd do something.' do something.'

'Once they have power they are reluctant to share it.' At that remark, Victoria seemed to freeze again. Mrs Cywynski sighed and said, 'I think I must stay up here for a while. Yes?

No?'

'But...'

'No, dear. No arguments, please. I often sleep all night in a chair. The cats usually get to the bed before me.'

Victoria blew her nose and tried to sound composed.

'Thank you, Mrs Cywynski.'

'Roxana, dear. There's no point in having formality among my friends.'

'Thank you. I'm glad I came here.'

'I should hope so, too. Now off to bed with you.' And she pushed her charge gently back to her room. 'It'll all seem much better in the morning,' she said, but something in the ether told her that she was wrong.

Victoria considered her office. From up by the ceiling it took on a completely different aspect. She wondered why she spent so much time on the confining floor when there was so much wasted room higher up.

She watched herself seated at her desk down below, surrounded by schedules and inventories. She seemed to be dozing in the warm sunlight, and if she wasn't careful, she would knock that stone-cold cup of 'hot' chocolate over.

There seemed to be some sort of cord like a silvery umbilical that connected the two of them above and below. It tugged slightly at her, but was not uncomfortable. Strangely, as she floated she thought she could hear her dusty little pot-plant humming to itself.

She slid through the wall just by the cornice, and out into one of the main halls. For a while she floated gently over the cosmopolitan heads of the tourists as they milled around the antiquities below. They didn't seem to notice her at all.