A pause; Sebastian allowed his interest to simmer encouragingly into the air.

“And what did it say?”

“I wrote it out.” And indeed Richard had transcribed the text messages onto his little note pad, which contained poems, shopping lists and now other people’s texts. “Hallo Freddy treffen wir uns im Phoenix um 20.00 bis später Maria.”^[10] He sniffed. “Kiss kiss.”

“Freddy?”

“Baummüller, Karl Friedrich. That’s his name. They’re meeting at the International Cinema. There’s a foreign film every Tuesday — ” he indicated the paper on the table before him — “and tonight, Francois Truffaut, Jules et Jim!”

Sebastian had always liked that film; all that gallivanting about brought a half-smile to his face just picturing it, especially with la belle Maria substituted for Jeanne Moreau. “Jules et Jim indeed. And I suppose that would make you… Jules, the Frenchman. Do you want a coffee?”

“But anyhow, the lobsters…”

“No, no, let’s go on with the other theme a while, shall we?”

“I don’t mean to go on about it.”

“No, no,” said Sebastian, and came out with the point. “The question is why you got the text.”

“My surname is the same letter as his.”

“What’s your surname?”

“Brinsley.”

“Ah, but I think there’d be a few surnames between yours and her, surely. I imagine Maria’s got a lot of names on her phone.”

“I don’t know. Maria’s not a very social person … y’know, she reads so much.”

“Does she?”

“Yes, she really reads.”

“And Baummüller too … but the fact remains you are in her mind in some way. I mean, surely if her subconscious wasn’t talking she would have noticed the error in the recipient. And sent you — another text.”

His face lit up at that, then said: “Depends on the keypad of the phone.”

“What?”

“It depends…” but Richard had picked up on his evident confusion. “I just don’t think it’s right for her to be knocking round with Baummüller. I mean, the guy must be fifty.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, “It’s quite normal. It’s a phase girls go through, to be attracted to older men. It’s to do with status and the wish for children.”

“I have it on authority that Baummüller lives alone with a Dachshund. And was sighted eating in the staff room eating baked beans out of the tin.”

Sebastian laughed. “It would seem then that the gentleman is right at home in academia. Tell me, though, why should Maria spend her time with a kid like you?”

“I like Maria,” said Rich, “I’d look out for her.”

He took a look at the man opposite, the curls of pube-like hair, the puppyish under-chin, the troll nose splodged on like a reddened light bulb, and felt confronted with a much younger man than himself. “Yes,” he said, “You do like her, don’t you? Can you tell me why?”

“She’s so pretty, so clever, and she really cares about art.”

“Ha! It’s like that is it — the muse is singing.”

“I wrote a song for her,” he said, “on my computer.”

Sebastian, technologically illiterate, took his cap off to that. “Well, young master, I have a proposal for you. Why don’t you write and ask her to visit us for dinner? I’ll cook, and there might be one or two others there. How about next Saturday night?”

“Uh — Saturday night is difficult; we’re having a Star Wars evening.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, dinner,” Rich announced. “Sure, sure, at yours — I’ll bring some wine; there’s a cheap offy near mine.”

“Right you are — shall we say, eight thirty?”

“That’s late.”

Sebastian checked again. “We’ll say eight. And …” “Yes?” “Will he be there?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” said Sebastian smilingly.