phone somewhere safe, where I donât even have to see it.â
Back in the entrance hall, William was still standing opposite the front door, staring at it. This time he must have heard Spencer coming.
âI'm going to go outside,â he said, âif itâs the last thing I do.â
Spencer put Hazelâs phone on top of the junk mail on the telephone table, where he was fairly sure not to forget it. William immediately picked it up and tried out various buttons.
âSheâs a rich teacher then?â
âShe has to be available.â
William pretended to make a call.
âHello,â he said. âIs there anybody out there?â
Hazel was right, he did look a bit like Fellini, but in altogether better health. He seemed in no hurry to go outside, so Spencer decided it was safe to leave him on his own for a while.
In the dining room, while sheâd been waiting, Hazel had pushed away her book and shimmied the skirt of her sweater-dress above her knees. When Spencer came back she let her hand drift over the cushion beside her. Spencer preferred the chair.
âFine,â she said. She crossed her hands in her lap, and was surprised by how much teacher now crept into her voice:
âWould you mind telling me whatâs going on?â
âHowâs Sir John?â
âSorry?â
In the book.Â
Sir John Magill's Last Journey.â
âItâs his last journey. Come on, Spencer, we ought to be doing better than this.â
He did that incredibly annoying thing where he looked away, as if something somewhere else had urgently caught his attention. Hazel told him to stop it. They were alone, she said, in the same place for a change and together at last. They could actually try to enjoy it.
âWe have the whole day,â she said firmly. âSo stop worrying. Or at least tell me what youâre worried about.â
âIâm sorry,â Spencer said, changing chairs. 'I can never relax when people are coming to look at the house.â
âIf thereâs something wrong you should tell me. We shouldnât have any secrets.â
âItâs not a secret. Itâs just. Look. Imagine the worst possible scenario.â
âOf what?â
âOf us.â
Hazel breathed in, closed her eyes, and imagined more than one Spencer Kelly. This one in the dining room, although he looked something like the Spencer Kelly sheâd been expecting, was in fact a completely different Spencer Kelly. He actually owned this house and his father wasnât a warehouseman. Instead he was a senior politician whoâd made his fortune preaching fundamentalist sermons against sex before marriage. When he found out about Hazelâs familiarity with Spencerâs bed, he would automatically suspect an evil connection with Hazelâs fatherâs sales trips to Iran or Pakistan or Israel. In a fit of rage the father of the fake Spencer Kelly would then exploit his masonic contacts in the military to initiate pre-emptive air-strikes against any of the above-named countries, who would all retaliate instantly with various weapons of mass destruction. Total nuclear war would follow, resulting in the destruction of everything and the death of the planet.
And then Hazel Burns would never meet the real Spencer Kelly, for whom she may well have been destined in love.
âWell itâs not that bad,â Spencer said.
âHow bad is it?â
Spencer stared intently at a loose thread behind a button on his suit jacket. Hazel snapped her fingers. He told her that when heâd been in the library heâd asked about the moming-after pill.
âWell hello romance,â Hazel said.
Spencer looked up at her, embarrassed but still hopeful, as if she was contemporary art. She wished he wouldnât do that. It was almost as bad as when he looked away, and not for the first time in her life Hazel wished she believed in a romantic love like