he said. “I have this problem with my landlady.” He picked a long, bright hair off the back of her dress, so deftly that the act seemed simply considerate. He had been skilful at balancing glass, plate and cutlery, too. He had a look of dignified misery, like a dejected hawk. She was interested. “What sort of problem? Amatory, financial, or domestic?” “None of those, really. Well, not financial.” He turned the hair on his finger, examining it intently, not meeting her eye. “Not financial. Can you tell me? I might know somewhere you could stay. I know a lot of people.” “You would.” He smiled shyly. “It’s not an easy problem to describe. There’s just the two of us. I occupy the attics. Mostly.” He came to a stop. He was obviously reserved and secretive. But he was telling her something. This is usually attractive. “Mostly?” Encouraging him. “Oh, it’s not like that. Well, not … Shall we sit down?” They moved across the party, which was a big party, on a hot day.
