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know you’re something of a night owl, Betty. And it’s Thursday—your tomorrow.”
    â€œOh, it is so confusing. I should know, and I’ll try to remember.”
    Bettina was very conscious that what she was saying revealed how occasional the contacts had been between them—between her and anyone from her Australian past. With Oliver the contacts had been, quite often, just once a year, and never more than twice. She launched herself into a spiel she had been preparing in advance, and, realizing that in her effort to appear welcoming, she was gabbling, tried to rein herself back.
    â€œOllie, I wanted to say that I’d love to have you to stay here for the first days of your holiday. You know how itchy I get if I can’t get down to the writing in peace, but it’s been so long, and it would be so nice if we could actually be together, really get to know each other. Again —because we really did know each other once.” Conscious that Oliver might point out that this was until he was about five, and that he’d developed a great deal since then, she began gabbling again. “And then we could plan what you’d like to see while you’re over here. The London theater is not what it was, but it’s still pretty good, and I’d need to know the sort of thing you like—and then of course other sorts of things: concerts I’m not too good on, but I can find out, and then there’s art exhibitions, places of course—”
    â€œHold your horses, Betty! One thing at a time. Now as to plays, I’m old-fashioned, and I like good strong plays with meaty situations.”
    â€œAh…Maybe one of the Priestley revivals. Or Tennessee Williams? Strong plays don’t get written much these days.”
    â€œEither would be fine. And then I’ve never —I’m ashamed to say this—seen Shakespeare onstage. I suppose I’ve been saving it till I could see something really good.”
    â€œRight. That should be possible—depending on what plays are being done.”
    â€œI’m not fussy about the play.”
    â€œWell, you should be, Ollie. If you’ve only one chance to see really well-done Shakespeare it shouldn’t be, say, Timon of Athens or Two Gentlemen of Verona. Luckily they’re not often done.”
    â€œThen a concert at the Albert Hall, and an opera at Covent Garden. It’s a question of experiencing the places as much as anything, but it would be nice if the opera is something mainline.”
    â€œThat might be a problem with opera. Mainline operas at Covent Garden tend to get booked up by corporate sponsors, I don’t know why. The people who come find anything more complicated than ‘O Sole Mio’ heavy, so you might just as well sit them down in front of a Stravinsky or a Berg as a Puccini. Still, I’ll do my best.”
    â€œAnd…” Here the hesitations became long enough to be awkward. “Going back to the staying with you in the flat…”
    â€œYou’d prefer to spend your time with Mark,” said Bettina, breaking in on him. “I really should have thought of that. You haven’t seen him for yonks, and—”
    â€œNo, it’s not that…Not entirely…It’s just that…well, here goes: I’ve been hoping to have someone to travel with me. Judy couldn’t face the long air trip, and Cathy couldn’t get the time off work…” Those were Ollie’s wife and daughter, women Bettina hardly knew. She waited, her stomach feeling oddly churned up. “Well, I’ve never told you this, but we’ve been seeing quite a lot of Sylvia these last few years. We’ve…come together, and got on very well.”
    Bettina tried without success to put her voice into neutral.
    â€œI take it this Sylvia is—”
    â€œSylvia Easton. Yes. And—well—the long and the short of it is, she’s always