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the dressing-table seemed to fit these grim words. Moisture cream, day nourishing cream, night cream, muscle oil—there must have been more than twenty bottles to bring aid and comfort to the fun-trip. Mary glanced in the direction of the dressing-table as Curran did, the sad mirror sizing her up before she looked away again.
    ‘What will you drink? Whisky?’ Arnold said.
    ‘Very good,’ said Curran. ‘That’s my drink.’
    Mary sat swirling her glass so that the ice in it rattled. Arnold, on his way to the bathroom to refill the ice-tray, said, ‘It’s been a fine day, cold of course, but we didn’t stay in. Mary and I—’ he reappeared with the watery ice-tray carefully balanced, and continued as he edged it into the freezer of the small refrigerator, ‘we went out, all the same. We went to the Frari church to see The Assumption of Titian. Marvellous!’ He sat down and took up his gin and tonic.
    ‘What an experience!’ Mary said.
    Arnold said, ‘Mr Curran, I want to tell you something about my wife.’
    ‘Why me?’ said Curran.
    ‘Mr Curran, we want to talk to you,’ Mary said.
    ‘Just call me plain Curran,’ Curran said. That goes for first name and second name with my friends.’
    ‘Curran. That’s nice,’ Mary said.
    ‘We decided, Mary and I,’ said Arnold, ‘that we should open up a bit to you. We decided today, while we were on our rounds of the churches, that we should take you into our confidence. After all, you’re my son’s friend and, no doubt, adviser.’
    Curran smiled, feeling wary, hoping they were not going to pump him about Robert but, rather, let themselves be pumped. ‘I’m hardly Robert’s Father-confessor’, he said.
    ‘Has he left Venice?’ said Mary.
    ‘I really don’t know,’ Curran said.
    ‘We thought you were both here in Venice together,’ she said, glancing at Arnold.
    ‘Well, didn’t I tell you we met by chance? One always seems to bump into a friend in Venice, no matter what time of year.’
    ‘Well then, if you’re not in Venice as a friend of Robert’s what are you here for?’ she said.
    ‘Mary!’ said Arnold.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘You simply mustn’t ask questions like that.’
    Curran looked very amused. ‘How long have you been on holiday together?’ he said.
    Mary giggled. Then she said, ‘Nearly two weeks. Arnold feels we’ve been followed. We were in France, you know, and a night in Paris; then Arnold called his wife, who seemed upset, but really, Mr Curran, I mean Curran—’
    ‘I want very much to tell you about my wife Anthea,’ Arnold said.
    ‘You seem to trust my discretion,’ Curran said. ‘But you know, your private affairs are no business of mine.’
    ‘My wife Anthea …’ Arnold kept on saying as if he had other wives by other names. He leaned back his head as he spoke, his eyes on the horse and rider rearing above him. As Arnold spoke, Curran took the opportunity to stare deliberately at Mary and, having obtained her prompt attention, he slowly winked one eye. She seemed delighted, hunching her shoulders in a quick gesture and puckering her face in a smile of conspiracy.
    ‘My wife Anthea, as I say, is a sensitive, a very sensitive woman. I have tried to give her affection, understanding. … She had a nervous breakdown three years ago. What is a man to do? A strong, normal man with a big responsibility, running a school, pleasing the Board of Governors, getting a high quota of boys through the university exams, getting the right teachers, controlling them, making the school pay. And all the rest of it—’
    ‘Etcetera, etcetera,’ suggested Curran with some nods of comprehension.
    ‘Exactly,’ said Arnold. He looked at Mary with a worried, rather sad, smile. Then two years ago, exactly, this month, Mary came into the school and into my life. How are your drinks getting on? Mary?’
    ‘I’ll help myself,’ Mary said. ‘Same for you, Curran?’
    ‘Yes, please, Mrs Tiller.’
    ‘Mary, to you,’