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a complete bloody pain in the backside. We’re only in town for a few hours and I haven’t got time to visit a dry cleaners. I thought I could trust you to do that before you left.” A sigh. “All right, look, don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. See you.”
    Any mood-lifting the dancing had done was wiped out.
    ***
    At exactly noon, the doorbell sounded. A tall, thin, red-haired woman about her own age was at the front door, dressed in a strappy top, skinny jeans and heels. Sylvie barely had time to say hello before the other woman started talking.
    “Sylvie? Of course you’re Sylvie, who else? I’m Leila, Seb’s neighbor across the courtyard.” She glanced down and her lips twitched. “I like the name tag. Has it come in handy?”
    Sebastian’s label was still pinned to Sylvie’s jacket. She hurriedly unpinned it, realizing she’d also been for a walk around the block wearing it. “It’s a joke, I promise. Seb’s idea of a joke, at least.”
    “What’s got into him lately? I spent a day last week with a Post-it note saying ‘I’m a monkey, give me a banana’ on my back. He thought it was hilarious.”
    “I’m so sorry. We thought the electric shock treatment was working.”
    Leila smiled again, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “Time to up the voltage, I think.” She took an envelope out of her bag. “He asked me to drop this in to you today.”
    Sylvie glanced at it, front and back. No clues there. “Thanks very much.”
    “Seb says you’re down for a few weeks or maybe longer, is that right? Fancy a drink or something some night?”
    “I’d love that, thanks.” Leila reminded Sylvie of someone. Pippi Longstocking, she realized, one of her favorite childhood book characters. She warmed to her even more. “Would you like a coffee or something now?”
    “Normally, yes please. I live on coffee. But I’m running late for an audition.” She pulled a face. “I’m up for a part in one of the soaps today, hence this charming outfit. Another time maybe?”
    “That’d be great, drop in any time. And good luck with the audition.”
    “I need it, believe me. See you!” With a cheery wave, she was down the stairs and away.
    Leila’s visit canceled out the effect of Cleo’s phone message. Envelope in hand, Sylvie turned on the music again and went for a final slide around the apartment. As Patrick Hernandez’s “Born To Be Alive” came to an end, she arrived in the kitchen, took out a knife and carefully slit open the envelope.
    Inside was a sheet of fax paper. On it, four lines in Sebastian’s handwriting. Not last-minute instructions about the house-sitting. Nor tips about good restaurants or cafés or job websites or house agencies.
    Sylvie smiled. It was something even better.
    ***
    By mid-afternoon, the kitchen table was littered with scraps of paper covered in scribbles. There was a pile of books on the floor. Sylvie was on the phone.
    “I can’t figure it out, Seb. You have to give me a clue.”
    It had taken her an hour to get hold of him. It was a bad line. “Sorry, no can do, Miss Devereaux,” he said, his voice breaking in and out. “It’s a treasure hunt not a treasure-handed-to-you-on-a-plate.”
    “But I can’t decipher the riddle. And I’ve been through every book on your bookshelf.” She’d opened every single one and there were no slips of paper to be found.
    “That’s cheating going straight to the books. You’re supposed to look when you’ve deciphered the title, not flick through willy-nilly.”
    “I was getting desperate. We can change the rules, can’t we?”
    “The rules are set in stone and shall be forevermore. Apart from the fact I had to fax this starter clue down to Leila, but these were extraordinary circumstances. Anyway, who said anything about my bookshelf?”
    “Where else should I look for a book? In the fridge?”
    “Oh, you wit. There are other places for books, you know.”
    “Libraries, you mean? You want me to go the