I couldn’t stay away from Roza, not that I tried very hard. I’m one of those people who’s like a cat, who only feels guilty if it gets caught, and in any case it was so easy to stop off on my way home from my journeys, or even make a detour to call in on her. There were three practices in the vicinity, and I was covering a huge area of southern England, so I had no regular hours anyway. Sometimes I’d phone to make sure she was there and was feeling sociable, so I often spoke to the Jewish actor, who was the only one there with a telephone. He didn’t seem to mind being my messenger, and Roza hardly ever told me not to come. When I arrived she used to kiss me on both cheeks, which I enjoyed even though it wasn’t very British behaviour back in those days. Of course everyone’s gone Continental now, and you even kiss your mortal enemy. Roza would make strong black coffee on that appallingly filthy stove, and off we’d go to the living room and sit either side of the gas fire while she smoked and told me more stories about her life.
