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The Dalai Lama wasn’t like that—or at least he wasn’t when I saw him in Charing Cross Road.”
    They continued to walk down Cecil Court. “You know that they
find
him?” said James.
    “Who?”
    “The Dalai Lama,” he said. “They find a new Dalai Lama as a child. He’s the reincarnation, you see, of the last one. They look forsigns.” He paused. “We could do that with the Archbishop of Canterbury, don’t you think? We could find the reincarnated Archbishop of Canterbury as a small boy and bring him up in his new role.”
    Caroline laughed. “He’d have a terrible time at school,” she said. “Imagine how he’d be teased by the other kids. And it would be difficult for the teachers too. ‘Stop talking and get on with your work, please, Archbishop of Canterbury.’ It wouldn’t be easy.”
    “They’d call him Your Grace,” said James. “That’s what you call the Archbishop of Canterbury. Teachers would know that sort of thing.” He paused for a moment. “Or maybe not …”
    They reached a small bookshop with a display of modern first editions in the window. “This is the place,” James said. “Tindley and Chapman. It’s a great place. They’ve got all sorts of stuff.”
    They went in. Mr. Tindley was at his desk, paging through a book. He looked up and smiled at them. “Poussin?”
    “Yes,” said James.
    Mr. Tindley half turned and extracted a small pamphlet from the shelf behind him. “It’s in quite good condition,” he said, handing the pamphlet to James.
    James looked at the price. “Seventeen pounds?”
    Mr. Tindley nodded. “It’s quite rare.”
    James reached into his pocket and extracted a twenty pound note. Mr. Tindley took the note and gave the change. They went out.
    Caroline noticed that after he had slipped the pamphlet into a pocket, James put the three pound coins into his wallet. Then he reached into another pocket and took out the bottle of sterilising gel.
    “Money’s really dirty,” he said as they began to cross St. Martin’s Lane.
    She watched as he poured a small quantity of gel onto the palm of his right hand.
    “Dirty in what sense?” she asked. “Corrupting? Or because it represents exploitation of others?”
    James looked at her in surprise. “Of course not,” he said. “Nothing political. I meant because it’s often covered in germs. It’s handled by so many people, you see.”
    Caroline said nothing for a few moments, but once they were safely across the street she turned to James and touched him lightly on the forearm. “Listen, James,” she said. “Aren’t you being just a little bit too fussy about germs? I mean, there are germs all over the place. We’re covered in them.”
    James gave a shudder. “Speak for yourself,” he said.

9. The Use of the Subjunctive
    W HILE C AROLINE AND J AMES made their way to Covent Garden Market, not far away, in their offices in a discreet square in the heart of Soho, the Ragg Porter Literary Agency was about to have its quarterly review meeting. There were three principals in the firm, two of whom, Barbara Ragg and Rupert Porter, had taken over the business from their respective fathers. Gregory Ragg and Fatty Porter had collaborated amicably for over thirty years, and had blithely assumed that their offspring would do the same. The hope that Barbara and Rupert would work together was not misplaced, but that their relationship should mirror that of their fathers proved to be a wish too far; for although they made a success of the agency, Barbara and Rupert would never have described each other as friends.
    The main reason for the coolness between them was an historical one rather than any fundamental incompatibility of temperament. And like the old enmity between Ecuador and Peru, or between Chile and Argentina, the ill-feeling between Barbara and Rupertwas based on a territorial dispute. In the case of Ecuador and Peru, the argument had been about ownership of part of the Amazonian Basin; in the