Rainborough twitched at her use of Mischa's first name, and grimaced at the idea of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt ever experiencing shyness: but he could think of no good reason for refusing. She had him cornered.

On the following day Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt took the afternoon off and disappeared from the office at noon, presumably to make an early start on her persona for the evening. She was obviously very excited. Rainborough was left to speculate. He could get no further than the fairly simple idea that Mischa had taken it into his head to invite Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt simply in order to keep his, Rainborough's, hands full and prevent him from competing for the attention of Rosa, should that lady chance to be one of the gathering. The other possible solution, that the whole thing was Calvin Blick's idea and was a case of pure mischief-making, he rejected on reflection. As it was, it was bad enough. That Mischa should know of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's existence did not surprise Rainborough, who had long ago stopped being surprised at what Mischa knew. He did not imagine that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt could possibly think that he had himself put Mischa up to issuing the invitation. What he trembled at was the prospect of being forced to enter into a few hours of the Arabian Nights with that extremely determined young woman on his arm. Heaven only knew what would happen.

Half-way through the afternoon, after having got stuck with the crossword puzzle, Rainborough began to try to think of ways of getting out of the party altogether. He thought of feigning illness, of inventing urgent business in Devonshire, even of leaving the country: but he knew as he conjured them up that these escape plans were futile. A terrible curiosity drew him on. What did, however, demand satisfaction was his animosity against Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt which, like a river fed from many sources, was now become raging and destructive.

After a while Rainborough hit upon a simple device. The party was due to begin at eight. It had been rather vaguely agreed between them that Rainborough should arrive with the taxi soon after that hour. Rainborough had suggested coming about nine-thirty, in the hope of curtailing his sufferings, but Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who did not want to miss a minute of the proceedings, would not hear of this. Rainborough's new idea was to annoy her by arriving early. He particularly wanted to be able to see her before she had made up her face. He might even discover her half dressed. What Rainborough hoped to gain thereby was not a closer view of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's charms; he wished simply to startle her out of her usual composure. This would have a further advantage. Rainborough, whose imagination had been busy, had conceived it possible that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt might be affectionate to him in the taxi. He shuddered at the thought that she might even take his hand. He had already made plans for seeing to it that they left the party in someone else's car; and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who might also have antic.i.p.ated that they would not again be alone together, might have planned a prompt attack. If he could arrange for her to be discomposed and aggrieved at an early stage, he could thereby ensure that the atmosphere in the taxi was anything but intimate.

So it was that with a Machiavellian smile Rainborough arrived about seven-fifteen at the address in Hammersmith which Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had given him. He told the taxi which had brought him to return about an hour later, and he mounted the stairs. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had told him to come straight up to the second floor. It was a big Victorian house which had been divided into small flats for business girls. Rainborough found Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's name on a door and knocked. There was a prolonged flurry. Then a figure in a powder-stained dressing-gown and with a head which Rainborough scarcely recognized opened the door. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt stared at Rainborough. He could see at once that he was not going to be disappointed.

'You've come b.l.o.o.d.y early!' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.

'Oh, have I?' said Rainborough. 'I'm so sorry. I mislaid my invitation. The party's at seven-thirty, isn't it?'

'No,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt shortly, 'at eight. Come in, though.'

'I can easily wait outside or go away for a while,' said Rainborough, coming in eagerly and sitting down on a sofa.

'You're sitting on my dress I' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. She pulled away from under him an armful of flame-coloured silk.

Rainborough looked about him - and at once he realized that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's flat consisted of one room only. It was a small room whose faded velvet curtains and plump shabby plush furniture exuded a dusty smell which mingled with the odour of gas and face powder. The place was stuffy and overheated. In a narrow grate, surmounted by bright green tiles, a gas-fire, turned full on, burnt with a low shrieking sound. In front of it was a gas-ring, and a number of saucepans, some of which were clean. The floor and most of the furniture was covered with underclothing and silk dresses, the latter no doubt the record of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's earlier indecisions. The dressing-table was stacked with creams, powders, rouges, lipsticks, tonics, fresheners, varnishes, removers, cleaners and other kinds of cosmetics. Above the divan bed, which was covered with small lacy items, was a small shelf which held a dozen Penguin books. None of this surprised Rainborough. It had only not occurred to him, although he knew that some unfortunate people had to do it, that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt lived in one room. He turned to look at her, and at once began to feel ashamed of his little plan, which was succeeding even beyond his expectations.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was standing irresolutely, holding her dress up against her and clutching the neck of her dressing-gown. Her hair was tightly done up in curlers and covered by a net. Her face, deprived of its usual crenellated frame, was also bare of make-up. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt looked paler and older. Her nose glistened and the skin was drawn tight about her eyes. Rainborough felt pity for her and turned his glance away. Among scent-bottles on the mantelpiece he noticed some animals made of gla.s.s and wood. In a moment he would begin to find Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's room rather touching.

'You'd better have a drink,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt grimly. She produced a sherry bottle from behind the dressing-table. A box of powder leapt to the ground and spilled on the carpet.

'Oh, h.e.l.l!' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, and kicked it into a corner, where it overturned into a pile of pink silk things. She poured out a gla.s.s of sherry.

'Shall I go away while you dress?' asked Rainborough, now genuinely anxious.

'No,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, 'stay where you are.'

She went out carrying the dress and banging the door savagely behind her. There was a sound of running water in an adjoining bathroom. A moment later she returned wearing the dress, but still without stockings or make-up. Rainborough knew that he was upsetting an established routine. He sipped his sherry and watched. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt tied a towel awkwardly round her neck and began to smooth cream on to her face. Another woman, Rainborough reflected, might have turned the tables on him and found some way of turning the situation to her advantage. Not so Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, whose character in this respect he had judged rightly. With even a little grace in her person there was some intimacy, some complicity, which she might have drawn out of the scene; but she was still rigid with annoyance. How stupid she is I he thought to himself, and began to feel better.

'You could make yourself useful,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, whose voice still sounded a little high-pitched and odd, 'by drying those stockings for me.' She pointed to a pair of stockings which lay across the fender. 'Hold them up a bit closer to the fire. That's right.'

Rainborough drew his chair nearer to the gas-fire and dangled the damp stockings to and fro in the heat. As he did so, he looked up at Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. She was putting powder on her face with an enormous puff. The familiar surface was beginning to appear. She threw her head back. Then she removed the hair-net and began to take out the curlers. Rainborough watched the transformation fascinated. A cloud of powder was floating across the room. It reached him and enfolded him, suffocating, sickly, synthetic. Through mouth and nostrils Rainborough drank it in. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was shaking out her hair. The dark curls sprang to their stations. In a moment the whole ma.s.s had been released, not to ripple freely down Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's back but to protrude stiffly in predestined undulations. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who was now feeling better too, turned a little towards Rainborough. She took a hand-mirror, and parting her lips drew a thin red outline about them which she then proceeded to fill in. Her mouth, which was small, but failed to gain in width what it lost in length, opened at last to reveal a number of teeth. Lost in the detail of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's face, it took Rainborough a moment to realize that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was smiling at him. With a start he hastened to respond.

As he moved a sudden ball of agony collected in his right hand and shot violently up his arm. With a loud cry of pain Rainborough sprang to his feet. One of the stockings had come too close to the fire and the flammable nylon had leapt in one great tongue of flame into the palm of his hand. He hurled the burning remnants into the fireplace, dropped the other stocking, and danced about the room hugging his hand under his left armpit.

'Oh, you fool!' cried Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. 'Those were my best stockings!'

'd.a.m.n your stockings!' said Rainborough, arresting his dance and trying to examine the damage. The pain as he opened his hand was considerable. He closed it again and put it in his pocket. He glared at Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. 'I'm badly burnt!' he said.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt looked at him with exasperation. Then for a moment it seemed that she was going to laugh. But all she finally said was, 'What does one put on burns nowadays?'

'Oh, never mind!' said Rainborough. 'There's nothing one can do with a burn. For heaven's sake let's get out of here.' He sat down heavily on the divan and nursed his hand.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt left the room. She returned a few moments later fully dressed and swathed in an expensive fur cape, which Rainborough immediately felt sure she had borrowed for the occasion. They looked at each other. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's look expressed hostility, determination, and expectation: Rainborough's hostility, irritation and negation. They walked down the stairs together. The taxi could be seen waiting outside.

'Oh dear,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, 'the taxi's been waiting all this time!'

Rainborough said nothing. They got in.

The taxi-driver turned round. 'You did say eight-fifteen to come back, didn't you, guv?' he said. 'I wasn't sure if I'd got it right.'

'That's quite right,' said Rainborough.

The engine started. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt turned upon him a cold pitiless look of understanding. Rainborough did not trouble to invent an answering glance. His hand was very painful indeed.

Fifteen.

MISCHA Fox's house was brightly lit. Every window was blazing. A carpet had been laid upon the steps, and there were flowers on either side of the door, metallic blue and red in the crystalline light from the doorway, and swaying slightly in the evening breeze. A number of onlookers had collected. The outer door was open, and through the gla.s.s of the inner door two footmen could be seen standing in the hall. The time was 8.30 p.m. Already the onlookers had been rewarded by the arrival of two famous personages, accompanied by a train of conspicuously dressed women.

Mischa Fox's abode, as was well known, had certain curious features. Mischa had had the fantasy of buying four houses in Kensington, two adjoining in one road, and two adjoining in the next road, and standing back to back with the first two. He had joined this block of four houses into one by building a square structure to span the gap. Within this strange palazzo, so rumour said, the walls and ceilings and stairs had been so much altered, improved and removed that very little remained of the original interiors. By now, it was reported, there were no corridors and no continuous stairways. The rooms, which were covered with thick carpets upon which the master of the house was accustomed to walk barefoot, opened directly out of each other like a set of boxes; and the floors were joined at irregular intervals by staircases, often themselves antiques which had been ripped out of other buildings. The central structure, which, it was noticed, had few windows, excited yet wilder speculation. Some people said that it housed a laboratory, others that it contained a covered courtyard with a fountain, and others again that it was a storehouse for art treasures which had been procured illicitly by Mischa and which were so well known that his possession of them had to be kept a secret. The more accessible parts of the house were known to be crowded with objets d'art of all kinds alleged to be worth a quarter of a million. This maze of splendours was described by Mischa's foes and acquaintances, according to taste, as 'mad', 'sinister', 'vulgar', or 'childish'.

The taxi containing Rainborough and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt drove up to the door. A footman handed them out. Rainborough paid the fare. The crowd watched. 'What's he tip you, mate?' someone asked the driver.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt stood by uneasily, not knowing what to do with her eyes. They turned to go in. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt tripped over her dress and seized Rainborough's arm. 'Drunk already!' said the crowd.

They got into the hall. Rainborough was ushered one way and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt the other to leave their coats. Then they were led over silent carpets through a series of rooms and up a silent flight of stairs which rose directly out of one room and gave directly into another. They did not speak, and it was as if their feet did not touch the ground. Rainborough cast a quick glance at Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. Her lips were parted and he had never seen her eyes so wide open. He noticed, without surprise, that he was holding her hand. His heart was beating violently. A final door opened and they found themselves in a long room which was full of low and heavily shaded lights. There was suddenly a subdued murmur of talk. Rainborough let go of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.

A figure came forward to greet them. It was Calvin Blick. In evening-dress he looked like a mixture of Baudelaire and de Tocqueville. He leaned towards Rainborough, whose eyes were just becoming accustomed to the dim light, and held out an arm which seemed to embrace Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and draw her closer to her escort's side.

'Ah, you've both arrived!' said Calvin.

Rainborough, who was not concerned to dispute this, and was anxiously looking about to find Mischa, did not reply. Mischa was not in the room. Someone gave him a drink, Calvin's hand was on his arm, and he was moving forward towards two men of Austro-Hungarian appearance who were standing near by, with attendant women who seemed to be all jewellery and no faces. Calvin introduced him and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt to the group. The men were apparently called Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern, or else Rainborough had misheard. One of them made a polite remark to Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. Rainborough began to study his surroundings.

The room, as yet, was empty except for the small group to which he was attached, and one or two unrecognizable persons whom he could descry at the far end. It was an extremely long room and already rather stifling. The reason for this was not far to seek. Three of the walls were hung with tapestries which completely covered all the windows. Only the door through which they had come was revealed, the tapestries on either side being drawn well apart at the base and meeting to a point above the doorway. Rainborough looked at these hangings. He judged them to be French work of the fifteenth century. They were profusely covered with leaves and flowers among which ran, flew, crawled, fled, pursued, or idled an extraordinary variety of animals, birds, and insects. No human figures were to be seen. Rainborough noticed in a glance a hound loping amiably in pursuit of a rabbit, an astonished encounter of a hawk and a pigeon, and a unicorn holding a conversation with a lion. Then he shifted his eyes to the fourth wall, where a large gilt mirror towered above a fireplace where a log fire was burning. A white mantelshelf was covered with French paperweights and small ivory figures. On frail tables along the walls the lamps were burning at regular intervals, revealing in circles of light the golden pallor of the Aubusson carpet. Half-way along the room in a large round bowl of green gla.s.s, surmounted by a coronet of lights, tropical fish swam idly to and fro.

Rainborough turned round and found himself face to face with Annette, who had just come through the door. Annette's eyes and mouth were open, as Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's had been. The first thing that she saw on entering was Rainborough, and she kept her gaze upon him, still gaping, while Calvin murmured greetings and handed her a drink. She walked towards Rainborough, who was discreetly detaching himself from Rosenkrantz. Guildenstern was still holding forth to Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who was casting nervous glances towards Rainborough and Annette and was hardly able to answer him civilly. Rainborough turned and struck out boldly across the room to the fish-bowl, and Annette followed him with the docility of a young duckling which is supposed to follow the first thing that it sees.

Rainborough had not met Annette since the day when she she had visited his house. He looked at her now. She was wearing a sea-green three-quarter-length evening-dress, extremely decolletee. He peered at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her ankles; and he felt a sudden protective tenderness towards her. They leaned against the gla.s.s.

'Well, Annette,' said Rainborough, in the tone of a Victorian father coming upon one of his eleven children at her innocent play.

Annette shot him a dark look. 'Where's Mischa?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Rainborough. 'He hasn't appeared yet.'

Annette studied the fish, and Rainborough studied Annette.

'Do you know anything about fish?' Annette asked after a moment.

'No,' said Rainborough. 'Do you?'

'No,' said Annette. They were silent.

Rainborough swallowed his drink quickly and someone refilled his gla.s.s. A few more people had arrived, amongst whom Rainborough recognized a well-known composer and two potentates from Fleet Street.

'Who is that girl who's staring at us?' asked Annette.

'That's a Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt,' said Rainborough. 'She works in my office.'

'Oh,' said Annette. 'Is she a friend of Mischa's?'

'No,' said Rainborough. He felt unable to develop this, so they were silent again. Rainborough experienced a profound and anxious need to communicate with Annette. He wanted to say something which would be wise and reconciling, which would bind up all wounds and draw the child to his heart. He began to search for words.

'Annette,' he said, 'as one grows older one realizes that life has a great many random elements. One result of this is that there are a great many ways in which we can hurt and startle other people to whom we wish only good. For beings like us, patience and tolerance are not virtues but necessities.'

'When I'm patient,' said Annette, 'I'll be dead.'

This quick answer surprised and pleased Rainborough, who was trying to think of a rejoinder when there was a commotion at the doorway. They both turned. Mischa Fox came in, accompanied by Peter Saward. Rainborough saw that Mischa was holding Peter Saward's arm, and he felt a sharp thrill of jealousy. A wave of attention undulated through the room and everyone was looking towards the door. The conversation paused and then resumed. Rainborough could see from the corner of his eye that Annette was standing rigid, holding on to a fold in the tapestry. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who undoubtedly recognized Mischa from his photographs in the paper, turned crimson, to the astonishment of Rainborough, who had never seen her blush.

Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern were advancing with cries of joy and addressing Mischa in German. Mischa answered them in English, and presented Peter Saward, Rainborough noticed that Mischa treated Peter as if he were a celebrity. Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern noticed it too and received Peter with an att.i.tude of reverence. Rainborough felt extreme irritation. He knew that this was the moment at which he ought to go forward and introduce Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, but he thought: he invited her, he can deal with her; and detaching himself from Annette, Rainborough sat down in a nearby chair. As he turned, he noticed Calvin Blick, who was leaning against the mantelpiece at the far end of the room, his gaze moving to and fro between Mischa and Rainborough, like a spectator at Wimbledon.

Then Rainborough saw that Mischa, leaving Peter Saward in the hands of Austria-Hungary, was turning towards Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. He shook hands with her, drawing her skilfully aside as he did so, with the words, 'You must be Agnes Cas.e.m.e.nt. I'm so glad that you managed to comel'

'Confound it!' thought Rainborough. 'He even knows her Christian name!'

Mischa introduced Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt to Peter Saward. Then he turned and surveyed the rest of the room. Rainborough made no movement. In a minute or two Mischa began to saunter lazily towards the fireplace, speaking to various guests on the way. He was wearing a velvet smoking-jacket and looked very much at his ease. Rainborough looked to see how Calvin would greet his master; but Calvin had disappeared. He must have gone through a doorway concealed behind the tapestry in the far corner of the room.

Mischa came up to Rainborough. 'John!' he said, 'h.e.l.lo!' His eyes were gleaming with gaiety.

Rainborough resisted an impulse to rise to his feet. 'Mischa,' he said, 'you old rogue!'

Mischa sat down on the floor. Rainborough remarked the relaxed grace of his posture and the extraordinary flexibility of his feet and ankles. The human foot, which is usually a stiff and jointed object, quite unlike the smoothly bending limbs of an animal, appeared in Mischa to have lost its rigidity. Rainborough, an agile man, but even in his youth robust rather than lithe, looked down at Mischa with envy as he sat, his legs tucked under him and the soles of his shoes turning upward, like an oriental sage.

Annette was still standing near them, holding on to the tapestry and staring at Mischa. Mischa turned his head. 'Annette, come here,' he said, speaking as if to a child. He stretched out his hand.

Annette came forward cautiously, putting her foot down as if the floor might give way under her. As Mischa kept his hand outstretched, she took it, and he drew her down to sit beside him at Rainborough's feet.

'You two have met, I believe?' said Mischa. His eyes were wide and serene, like those of a happy animal.

'As you know,' said Rainborough.

'I like my friends to know each other,' said Mischa. 'Tell me, Annette, when did you say that your dear mother was coming to England?'

'In the summer,' mumbled Annette. She was looking down and refusing to meet Mischa's gaze. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her head; and she gave him without concealment a look of yearning which made Rainborough turn away in embarra.s.sment and surprise.

'Do you think that Annette resembles Marcia, John?' asked Mischa.

'I've never met Marcia,' said Rainborough sulkily.

Annette was relaxing. She was finishing her second drink. 'What is this marvellous stuff?' she asked.

'You must excuse me a moment,' said Mischa. He was staring at the door. Hunter and Rosa had just come in. Mischa rose slowly.

Hunter advanced into the room. He was very ill at ease and obviously blinded by the dim light, which contrasted with the bright room outside, and by the haze of cigarette smoke which now darkened the air. He caught sight of Peter Saward and clutched his arm with piteous desperation. Peter greeted him warmly and introduced him to people nearby. Rosa meanwhile stood stock still by the door and looked about for Mischa. She soon saw him and stood quite motionless, looking towards him intently. Mischa approached, and it seemed to the two who were watching a long time before he reached her. He took her hand and kissed it. Rosa said nothing, but turned and walked away to the farther end of the room, where there was an empty s.p.a.ce. Mischa followed her, and they were to be seen a moment later in conversation. It was plain that they were both much moved. Rainborough looked at them. They seemed immensely distant and inaccessible. He looked at Annette, and once more had to turn away.

Some more people were arriving. The room was now quite full. Rosenkrantz and a rather dull woman who appeared to be his wife bore down upon Annette, asking news of her mother. Rainborough had another drink. He began to feel calmer and more detached. His hand, which had been hurting him considerably, was beginning to feel better too. Round about him the chatter was deafening. Through the throng he could see that the tapestry had been swept back at the far end of the room to reveal an open window. In the alcove so created, beside a a bright lamp, like figures on a stage he saw Mischa and Rosa with Peter Saward. Peter was sitting in a chair and leaning towards the window. Mischa and Rosa were looking down at him. Mischa was saying something with gestures.

Several drinks later Rainborough found that he was sitting on the floor. So were a lot of other people. A number of the celebrities seemed to have gone home, and the room was a little emptier, though the din seemed to be just as considerable. Close to him on the floor he discovered Mrs Rosenkrantz, who, it turned out, was not dull at all, but delightfully witty and attractive. As they talked, a familiar green skirt swept past, and Rainborough looked up to see Annette making for the mantelpiece like a shipwrecked man striking out for a raft. When she reached it she leaned against it heavily. She looked rather the worse for wear. Her face was flushed and her hair, which was usually unruly, was almost standing on end. There was a wild look in her eye. As she leaned there breathing deeply, Rainborough noticed Mischa, who was standing a little way off by himself and also watching Annette. It occurred to Rainborough at that moment that Mischa had been drinking nothing all the evening. He turned to explain this point to his companion. It turned out to be surprisingly complicated.

Annette was staring at the mantelpiece. In the centre of the shelf was a group of ivory figures of men and animals. She touched one or two of them gingerly with her finger. Then she became aware of Mischa. She straightened herself and patted her hair as he came towards her. A soft music was beginning in the background, and at the far end of the room someone was rolling back the carpet. A couple began to rotate slowly.

'What these?' said Annette, pointing to the ivory figures. Her voice didn't seem to be quite under her control.

'They're called netsuke,' said Mischa. 'They were made in j.a.pan in the eighteenth century. People used to wear them on their clothes.'

'Was it magic?' asked Annette.

'No,' said Mischa, 'or only in the way in which magic can be part of ordinary life.'

Annette lifted one of them. It was an old man seated and leaning against a sleeping buffalo. She turned it upside down. It was carved underneath too, the man's naked foot turned back, his figured robe, the fur of the animal. She put it down. Next to it was a girl seated on a clam-sh.e.l.l, then a boy with his arm round the neck of a goat, an old man with a rat on his shoulder, a woman holding a fish. Each one she saw, represented a human being with an animal.

'You got real fish here,' said Annette. 'Let's see the real fish.' She turned suddenly and made for the fish-bowl. Mischa followed her. Annette looked at him from the other side of the bowl. She held the edge of it like someone about to do a hand-spring. Her eyes were flashing. Then she looked down at the fish. Intent upon their own concerns, the fish swam to and fro. The black sulky ones with the whiskers and the zebra-striped ones with the large fins swam slowly and lazily. The little shiny blue ones and the pale dog-faced ones swam quickly and nervously.

'What's that one?' asid Annette, and thrust her hand into the water, pointing.

'Don't do that,' said Mischa, 'you frighten them, and you contaminate the water.'

Annette withdrew her hand. She stared at him for a moment. Then she plunged her whole arm into the bowl up to the elbow. The fish scattered in alarm.

Mischa did not move. 'Don't do that, Annette,' he said.

Annette slowly drew her arm out. The water ran down her dress, making a dark stain. She looked dazed.

'Come and dance,' said Mischa. He drew her across towards the music.

The little demon, thought Rainborough who had been watching, she wanted to force him to touch her! He looked about for Rosa and saw her sitting by the window talking to Saward. Hunter was on the dance-floor. Rainborough was just turning back to Mrs Rosenkrantz, who, it was becoming apparent to him, had the most wonderfully large eyes, when an apparition appeared which seemed to be located directly above his head. This apparition, when it came into focus, turned out to be Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.

Rainborough, who had temporarily forgotten about Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, surveyed her with interest. It was evident that as far as the drink was concerned Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had not been wasting her time.

'Sit down, sweetie,' said Rainborough, 'and let me introduce you to Mrs Rosenkrantz.'

'No!' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt in a surprisingly clear voice. 'You get up!'

Rainborough found himself on his feet. Mrs Rosenkrantz seemed to have been suddenly vaporized.

'I must have some air!' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. 'I think there's a window here behind the tapestry.' She fumbled at a gap in the stuff.

'Yes, so there is,' said Rainborough. 'Here, let me.' He pulled the heavy material apart and they stepped through. The tapestry fell to behind them and they found themselves standing in a bay window. It was extremely dark. Rainborough pulled up the sash and leaned out. He was looking into some sort of garden. He wondered where in Mischa's domain this garden could possibly be, and he tried to orient himself by the stars; but it was a cloudy night and the few stars that were visible did not announce any constellation that he could recognize. He drank in the cold night air. It was sobering.